<h2><SPAN name="Slave" id="Slave"></SPAN>THE SLAVE'S DREAM</h2>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span>Beside the ungathered rice he lay,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">His sickle in his hand;<br/></span>
<span>His breast was bare, his matted hair<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Was buried in the sand.<br/></span>
<span>Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">He saw his Native Land.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>Wide through the landscape of his dreams<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The lordly Niger flowed;<br/></span>
<span>Beneath the palm trees on the plain<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Once more a king he strode;<br/></span>
<span>And heard the tinkling caravans<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Descend the mountain road.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>He saw once more his dark-eyed queen<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Among her children stand;<br/></span>
<span>They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">They held him by the hand!—<br/></span>
<span>A tear burst from the sleeper's lids<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And fell into the sand.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>And then at furious speed he rode<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Along the Niger's bank;<br/></span>
<span>His bridle-reins were golden chains,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And, with a martial clank,<br/></span>
<span>At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Smiting his stallion's flank.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>Before him, like a blood-red flag,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The bright flamingoes flew;<br/></span>
<span>From morn till night he followed their flight,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">O'er plains where the tamarind grew,<br/></span>
<span>Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And the ocean rose to view.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>At night he heard the lion roar,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And the hyena scream,<br/></span>
<span>And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Beside some hidden stream;<br/></span>
<span>And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Through the triumph of his dream.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>The forests, with their myriad tongues,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Shouted of liberty;<br/></span>
<span>And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">With a voice so wild and free,<br/></span>
<span>That he started in his sleep and smiled<br/></span>
<span class="i1">At their tempestuous glee.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span>He did not feel the driver's whip,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Nor the burning heat of day;<br/></span>
<span>For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And his lifeless body lay<br/></span>
<span>A worn-out fetter, that the soul<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Had broken and thrown away!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="citation"><span class="smcap">Longfellow</span></p>
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<p>Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact
man. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle;
logic and rhetoric, able to contend.</p>
<p class="citation"><span class="smcap">Bacon</span></p>
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