Elizabeth Margaret Chandler,
Poetical Works — The Slave-Ship
“ Your chief from his home and his country dissever— No! never will I be the conqueror's spoil“Say! long didst thou wait for my coming, my mother? Did ye bend o'er the desert, my sister, your eye? And weep at the lengthen'd delay of your brother, As each slow passing moment was chased by another, And still he appear'd not a tear-drop to dry.“But ye shall—yes, again ye shall fondly embrace me! We will meet my young bride in the land of the blest: Death, death once again in my country shall place me, One bound shall forever from fetters release me!” ”
