.

He proudly dreamed that to no other mind
Had these imaginings been uttered.
Alas! poor heart, how many have awoke,
And found their newest thoughts as old as time--
Their brightest fancies woven in the threads
Of ancient poems, history or romance,
And knowledge still elusive and far off.

V.

The days that lengthen into years went on.
The quadroon girl who fainted on the cliff
Was Ruth; now, blooming into womanhood,
She looked on Karagwe, and seeing there
Something above the level of the slave,
Watched him with interest in all his ways.

At first through pity was she drawn to him.
While both were sitting on a rustic seat,
Near the tall mansion where the planter dwelt,
A drunken overseer came straggling past,
And seeing in the dusk a female form,
Swayed up to her, and caught her by the arm,
And with an insult, strove to drag her on.
Ruth spoke not; but the negro, with one grasp
Upon the white man, caused her quick release.
He turned, and in the face struck Karagwe.
The patient slave did not return the blow,
But the next day they tied him to a post,
And fifty stripes his naked shoulders flayed.
Stricken in mind at being deeply wronged,
Filled with a noble scorn, that men most learned
Would so degrade a brother race of men,
He wept at heart; no groan fled through his lips.

Yet in a few days he was forced to go
And work beneath the intolerable sun,
Picking the cotton-boll, and bearing it
In a rude basket, on his wounded back,
Up a steep hill-side to the cotton gin.

VI.

Ruth, as she walked the pebbled garden lanes,
Or daily in her hundred household cares,
Thought of the dark face and noble heart
Of Karagwe, and truly pitied him.

He, when the labor of the day was done,
Moved through the dusk, among the dewy leaves,
And, darker than the shadows, scaled the wall,
And waited in the garden, crouching down
Among the foliage of the fragrant trees,
Hoping that she again might come that way.
He saw her through the window of the house,
Pass and repass, and heard her sweetly sing
A tender song of love and pity blent;
But would not call to her, nor give a sign
That he was there; to see her was enough.
Perhaps, if those about her knew he came
To meet her in the garden, they would place
Some punishment upon her, some restraint,
That she, though innocent, might have to bear.
So he passed back again to his low cot,
And on his poor straw pallet, dreame