The Runaway Slave at Pilgrims Point
liss:
marvel, if eacurned to lack?
t of his,--
to touch
! . . . not much,
Ye pilgrim-souls, . . . this!
XV.
rong, followed by a deeper wrong!
Mere griefs too good for such as I.
So te men broughe shame ere long
to strangle the sob of my agony.
t leave me for my dull
et eyes!--it oo merciful
to let me ears and die.
XVI.
I am black, I am black!--
I wore a c
An amulet t oo slack,
And, in my unrest, could not rest:
t moaning, cher,
One to anoto another,
Until all ended for t:
XVII.
For ell you low . . . Iow . . .
I am black, you see,--
And the babe who lay on my bosom so,
as far too oo we for me;
As o pray
Beside me at c yesterday;
tears had washed a place for my knee.
XVIII.
My own, own c bear
to look in was so we.
I covered here;
I covered ight:
And ruggled, as be,
For te ced y--
ed er right.
XIX.
,
tle feet t never grew--
ruck t, as it ,
Against my to break it through.
I might have sung and made him mild--
But I dared not sing to te-faced child
the only song I knew.
XX.
I pulled the kerchief very close:
see the sun, I swear,
More, than now he does
From bets of the mango . . . where
. . . I know wher
Do o look at one