Katherine D. Tillman, "Phyllis Wheately" (1902)
O little maid from Afric's slave coasts brought
By traders cruel to be put up and sold
As other goods by scheming merchants are,
A human life exchanged for senseless gold.
Rude, helpless child, right glad am I
That then thy lot and tender years
A woman's generous sympathies awoke
And thou wert christened with a woman's tears.
Oh, little did she dream that genius rare
Slumbered within thy childish brain,
Or that the time would come when thou
Wouldst lasting fame obtain;
But nurtured by a Christian woman's care
In all the graces true and sweet thou grew,
And soon the wise, the famed and the great
To pay thy genius homage quickly drew.
Thy verses with their meloncholy strain
Breathed from a soul so filled with poesy
Won my friends to thee, O Phyllis dear,
And made thy mistress more than proud of thee.
And Washington, our nation's chief,
Paid tribute to thee, gifted Afric maid,
Much pleasure found in lines thy dark hands penned
And thou with courtly praise did lade.
And England, too, applauded thee, dear one,
And read thy graceful verses with all pride.
Alas, that thou while in the bloom of life
Thy earthly task gave o'er—and died!
But, ah, thy memory still is green,
And Afric poets still are inspired by thee,
And thou wilt help them tune their harps
To grander strains of minstrelsy!
Published in Tillman's Recitations, 1902