Paupertas onus visa est grave. <br /> <br /> <br />Cold blows the wind, and while the tear <br /> Bursts trembling from my swollen eyes, <br />The rain's big drop, quick meets it there, <br /> And on my naked bosom flies! <br /> O pity, all ye sons of Joy, <br /> The little wand'ring Negro-boy. <br /> <br />These tatter'd clothes, this ice-cold breast <br /> By Winter harden'd into steel, <br />These eyes, that know not soothing rest, <br /> But speak the half of what I feel! <br /> Long, long, I never new one joy, <br /> The little wand'ring Negro-boy! <br /> <br />Cannot the sigh of early grief <br /> Move but one charitable mind? <br />Cannot one hand afford relief? <br /> One Christian pity, and be kind? <br /> Weep, weep, for thine was never joy, <br /> O little wand'ring Negro-boy! <br /> <br />Is there a good which men call Pleasure? <br /> O Ozmyn, would that it were thine! <br />Give me this only precious treasure; <br /> How it would soften grief like mine! <br /> Then Ozmyn might be call'd, with joy, <br /> The little wand'ring Negro-boy! <br /> <br />My limbs these twelve long years have borne <br /> The rage of ev'ry angry wind: <br />Yet still does Ozmyn weep and mourn, <br /> Yet still no ease, no rest can find! <br /> Then death, alas, must soon destroy <br /> The little wand'ring Negro-boy! <br /> <br />No sorrow e'er disturbs the rest, <br /> That dwells within the lonely grave; <br />Thou best resource, the wo-wrung breast <br /> E'er ask'd of Heav'n, or Heav'n e'er gave! <br /> Ah then, farewell, vain world, with joy <br /> I die the happy Negro-boy!<br /><br />James Henry Leigh Hunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-negro-boy/
