Life was trembling, faintly trembling <br />On the bondman's latest breath, <br />And he felt the chilling pressure <br />Of the cold, hard hand of Death. <br /> <br />He had been an Afric chieftain, <br />Worn his manhood as a crown; <br />But upon the field of battle <br />Had been fiercely stricken down. <br /> <br />He had longed to gain his freedom, <br />Waited, watched and hoped in vain, <br />Till his life was slowly ebbing -- <br />Almost broken was his chain. <br /> <br />By his bedside stood the master, <br />Gazing on the dying one, <br />Knowing by the dull grey shadows <br />That life's sands were almost run. <br /> <br />"Master," said the dying bondman, <br />"Home and friends I soon shall see; <br />But before I reach my country, <br />Master write that I am free; <br /> <br />"For the spirits of my fathers <br />Would shrink back from me in pride, <br />If I told them at our greeting <br />I a slave had lived and died; <br /> <br />"Give to me the precious token, <br />That my kindred dead may see -- <br />Master! write it, write it quickly! <br />Master! write that I am free!" <br /> <br />At his earnest plea the master <br />Wrote for him the glad release, <br />O'er his wan and wasted features <br />Flitted one sweet smile of peace. <br /> <br />Eagerly he grasped the writing; <br />"I am free!" at last he said. <br />Backward fell upon the pillow, <br />He was free among the dead.<br /><br />Frances Ellen Watkins Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dying-bondman/
