A thought had crept through his sluggish brain, And shone in his dusky face, That somehow--he could not tell just how-- 'Twas the sword of his trampled race. And as Morris, great with his lion heart, Rushed onward from gun to gun, The little negro slid after him, Like a shadow in the sun. But something of pomp and of curious pride The sable creature wore, Which at any time but a time like that Would have made the ship's crew roar. Over the wounded, dying, and dead, Like an usher of the rod, The black page, full of his mighty trust, With dainty caution trod. No heed he gave to the flying ball, No heed to the bursting shell; His duty was something more than life, And he strove to do it well. Down, with our starry flag apeak, In the whirling sea we sank, And captain and crew and the sword-bearer Were washed from the bloody plank. They picked us up from the hungry waves;-- Alas! not all!--"And where, Where is the faithful negro lad?"-- "Back oars! avast! look there!" We looked; and, as Heaven may save my soul, I pledge you a sailor's word, There, fathoms deep in the sea, he lay, Still grasping the master's sword! We drew him out; and many an hour We wrought with his rigid form, Ere the almost smothered spark of life By slow degrees grew warm. The first dull glance that his eyeballs rolled Was down towards his shrunken hand; And he smiled, and closed his eyes again As they fell on the rescued brand. And no one touched the sacred sword, Till at length, when Morris came, The little negro stretched it out, With his eager eyes aflame. And if Morris wrung the poor boy's hand, And his words seemed hard to speak, And tears ran down his manly cheeks, What tongue shall call him weak? This and the sonnets on next page are copyrighted, and used by permission of George Boker, Esq. SONNETS Either the sum of this sweet mutiny Amongst thy features argues me some harm, Or else they practice wicked treachery Against themselves, thy heart, and hapless me. For as I start aside with blank alarm, Dreading the glitter which begins to arm Thy clouded brows, lo! from thy lips I see A smile come stealing, like a loaded bee, Heavy with sweets and perfumes, all ablaze With soft reflections from the flowery wall Whereon it pauses. Yet I will not raise One question more, let smile or frown befall, Taxing thy love where I should only praise, And asking changes that might change thee all.