Be it known, that William Boylan, whose signature appears in his own proper hand writing to the annexed certificate, was at the time of signing the same and now is a Justice of the Peace and the Presiding Magistrate for the county of Wake, in the State aforesaid, and as such he is duly qualified and empowered to give said certificate, which is here done in the usual and proper manner; and full faith and credit are due to the same, and ought to be given to all the official acts of the said William Boylan as Presiding Magistrate aforesaid. [L.S.] In testimony whereof, I, J.M. Morehead. Governor, Captain General and Commander in Chief, have caused the Great Seal of the State to be hereunto affixed, and signed the same at the city of Raleigh, on the 26th day of April, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and forty-two, and in the sixty-sixth year of the Independence of the United States. J.M. MOREHEAD. By the Governor. P. REYNOLDS, Private Secretary. But thou art born a slave, my child; Those little hands must toil, That brow must sweat, that bosom ache Upon another's soil; And if perchance some tender joy Should bloom upon thy heart, Another's hand may enter there, And tear it soon apart. Thou art a little joy to me, But soon thou may'st be sold, Oh! lovelier to thy mother far Than any weight of gold; Or I may see thee scourg'd and driv'n Hard on the cotton-field, To fill a cruel master's store, With what thy blood may yield. Should some fair maiden win thy heart, And thou should'st call her thine; Should little ones around thee stand, Or round thy bosom twine, Thou wilt not know how soon away These loves may all be riv'n, Nor what a darkened troop of woe Through thy lone breast be driv'n. Thy master may be kind, and give Thy every wish to thee, Only deny that greatest wish, _That longing to be free:_ Still it will seem a comfort small That thou hast sweeter bread, A better hut than other slaves, Or pillow for thy head. What joys soe'er may gather round, What other comforts flow,-- _That_, like a mountain in the sea, O'ertops each wave below, That ever-upward, firm desire To break the chains, and be Free as the ocean is, or like The ocean-winds, be free. Oh, child! thou art a little slave; And all of thee that grows, Will be another's weight of flesh,-- But thine the weight of wees Thou art a little slave, my child, And much I grieve and mourn That to so dark a destiny A lovely babe I've borne.