Placido was born a slave on the island of Cuba, on the plantation of Don Terribio De Castro. The year of his birth I am unable to give, but it must have been somewhere between the years 1790 and 1800. He was of African origin. But little is known of his earliest days save that he was of gentle demeanor, and wore an aspect which, though mild, indicated the working of great thoughts within. He was allowed some little advantage of education in his youth, and he evinced great poetic genius. The prayer just quoted was composed by him while he lay in prison, and repeated on his way from his dungeon to his place of execution. The Heraldo, a leading journal of Havanna, thus spoke of him after his arrest:— “Placido is a celebrated poet,—a man of great genius, but too wild and ambitious. His object was to subdue Cuba, and make himself the chief.” The following lines, also, were found inscribed upon the walls of his dungeon. They were written on the day previous to his execution. “O Liberty! I wait for thee, To break this chain, and dungeon bar; I hear thy voice calling me, Deep in the frozen North, afar, With voice like God’s, and vision like a star. Long cradled in the mountain wind, Thy mates, the eagle and the storm: Arise; and from thy brow unbind The wreath that gives its starry form, And smite the strength, that would thy strength deform. Yet Liberty; thy dawning light, Obscured by dungeon bars, shall cast A splendour on the breaking night, And tyrants, flying thick and fast, Shall tremble at thy gaze, and stand aghast.” In poetic feeling, patriotic spirit, living faith, and withal in literary beauty, these lines are not surpassed; and they cannot fail to rank Placido not only with the great-hearted, but with the gifted men of the earth. A tribute to his genius is recorded in the fact, that he was ransomed from slavery by the contributions of slave-holders of Cuba. Placido was executed on the 7th of July, 1844. On the first fire of the soldiers, no ball entered his heart. He looked up, but with no spirit of revenge, no aspect of defiance,—only sat upon his countenance the desire to pass at once into the region where no death is. “Pity me,” said he, “and fire here,”—putting his hand upon his heart. Two balls then entered his body, and Placido fell. As Wordsworth said of Touissant, so may it be said of Placido,— “Thou hast left behind thee Powers that work for thee; air, earth, and skies. There’s not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies, Thy friends are exultations, agonies, A love, and man’s unconquerable mind.”