Frances E.W. Harper, "The Fugitive's Wife" (1854)
To toil in slavery;
But one thing cheered my lowly cot —
My husband was with me.
One evening, as our children played
Around our cabin door,
I noticed on his brow a shade
I'd never seen before;
And in his eyes a gloomy night
Of anguish and despair ; —
I gazed upon their troubled light,
To read the meaning there.
He strained me to his heaving heart —
My own beat wild with fear;
I knew not, but I sadly felt
There must be evil near.
He vainly strove to east aside
The tears that fell like rain : —
Too frail, indeed, is manly pride,
To strive with grief and pain.
Again he clasped me to his breast,
And said that we must part:
I tried to speak — but, oh! it seemed
An arrow reached my heart.
''Bear not!" I cried, "unto your grave,
The yoke you've borne from birth;
No longer live a helpless slave,
The meanest thing on earth!"
Published in Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects, 1854