Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 10

And with the promise in his heart, His seed should own that land, He gave the shekels for the field He took from Ephron's hand.

And saw afar the glorious day His chosen seed should tread, The soil where he in sorrow lay His loved and cherished dead.

GOING EAST.

She came from the East a fair, young bride, With a light and a bounding heart, To find in the distant West a home With her husband to make a start.

64 GOING EAST.

He builded his cabin far away, Where the prairie flower bloomed wild; Her love made lighter all his toil, And joy and hope around him smiled.

She plied her hands to life's homely tasks, And helped to build his fortunes up; While joy and grief, like bitter and sweet, Were mingled and mixed in her cup.

He sowed in his fields of golden grain, All the strength of his manly prime; Nor music of birds, nor brooks, nor bees, Was as sweet as the dollar's chime.

She toiled and waited through weary years For the fortune that came at length; But toil and care and hope deferred, Had stolen and wasted her strength.

The cabin changed to a stately home, Rich carpets were hushing her tread; But light was fading from her eye, And the bloom from her cheek had fled.

Slower and heavier grew her step, While his gold and his gains increased;

GOING EAST. 65

But his proud domain had not the charm Of her humble home in the East.

Within her eye was a restless light, And a yearning that never ceased, A longing to see the dear old home She had left in the distant East.

A longing to clasp her mother's hand, And nestle close to her heart, And to feel the heavy cares of life Like the sun-kissed shadows depart.

Her husband was adding field to field, And new wealth to his golden store; And little thought the shadow of death Was entering in at his door.

He had no line to sound the depths Of her tears repressed and unshed; Nor dreamed 'mid plenty a human heart Could be starving, but not for bread.

The hungry heart was stilled at last; Its restless, baffled yearning ceased.

A lonely man sat by the bier Of a corpse that was going East.

66 THE HERMIT'S SACRIFICE.

THE HERMIT'S SACRIFICE.

From Rome's palaces and villas Gaily issued forth a throng; From her humbler habitations Moved a human tide along.

Haughty dames and blooming maidens, Men who knew not mercy's sway, Thronged into the Coliseum On that Roman holiday.

From the lonely wilds of Asia, From her jungles far away, From the distant torrid regions, Rome had gathered beasts of prey.

Lions restless, roaring, rampant, Tigers with their stealthy tread, Leopards bright, and fierce, and fiery, Met in conflict wild and dread.

Fierce and fearful was the carnage Of the maddened beasts of prey, As they fought and rent each other Urged by men more fierce than they.

Till like m.u.f.fled thunders breaking On a vast and distant sh.o.r.e,

THE HERMIT'S SACRIFICE. 67

Fainter grew the yells of tigers, And the lions' dreadful roar.

On the crimson-stained arena Lay the victims of the fight; Eyes which once had glared with anguish, Lost in death their baleful light.

Then uprose the gladiators Armed for conflict unto death, Waiting for the prefect's signal, Cold and stern with bated breath.

"Ave Caesar, morituri, Te, salutant," rose the cry From the lips of men ill-fated, Doomed to suffer and to die.

Then began the dreadful contest, Lives like chaff were thrown away, Rome with all her pride and power Butchered for a holiday.

Eagerly the crowd were waiting, Loud the clashing sabres rang; When between the gladiators All unarmed a hermit sprang.

68 THE HERMIT'S SACRIFICE.

"Cease your bloodshed," cried the hermit, "On this carnage place your ban;"

But with flashing swords they answered, "Back unto your place, old man."

From their path the gladiators Thrust the strange intruder back, Who between their hosts advancing Calmly parried their attack.

All undaunted by their weapons, Stood the old heroic man; While a maddened cry of anger Through the vast a.s.sembly ran.

"Down with him," cried out the people, As with thumbs unbent they glared, Till the prefect gave the signal That his life should not be spared.

Men grew wild with wrathful pa.s.sion, When his fearless words were said Cruelly they fiercely showered Stones on his devoted head.

Bruised and bleeding fell the hermit, Victor in that hour of strife;

SONGS FOR THE PEOPLE. 69

Gaining in his death a triumph That he could not win in life.

Had he uttered on the forum Struggling thoughts within him born, Men had jeered his words as madness, But his deed they could not scorn.

Not in vain had been his courage, Nor for naught his daring deed; From his grave his mangled body Did for wretched captives plead.

From that hour Rome, grown more thoughtful, Ceased her sport in human gore; And into her Coliseum Gladiators came no more.