Classic Poem

SONNET IV.

'T IS night; the unrelenting owners sleep
As undisturb'd as Justice; but no more
The o'erwearred slave, as on his native shore,
Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep
Though through the toil and anguish of the day
No tear escaped him, not one suffering groan
Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone
In bitterness; thinking that far away
While happy Negroes join the midnight song,
And merriment resounds on Niger's shore,
She whom he loves, far from the cheerful throne
Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door
With dim-grown eye, silent and woe-begone,
And weeps for him who will return no more.