The Last Hope

                        I.
An old man toiled in the burning sun, 
        And a grey old man was he;
He was bowed with years which had come and gone,
And over his sable brow swept on,
        As heavy as years might be:
For long had he worn the tyrant's chain, 
And toiled till the sweat came down like rain, 
From the morning light to the closing day, 
To deck his lord in his proud array.

                        II.
He had seen the sunlight long ago
        On the Gambia's waters dance,
And loosed the shaft from the twanging bow, 
To pierce the side of the flying roe, 
        And hurled his bamboo lance
in the tangled wild, where the lions growl, 
And the fierce hyenas gnome-like prowl, 
Or where the nameless monsters roar 
O'er the burning sands on the Afric shore.

                        III.
And there was the home of his youthful days, 
        And the light of his life was there, 
And he loved the sun whose streaming blaze 
Had ripened the fields of golden maize,
        Where the homes of his loved ones were.
And day by day he turned his glance, 
When the sun came up in the blue expanse 
Away to the land where its soft light smiles 
On the hut of his bride in the far off wild.

                        IV/
And when the day went down in night
        And its golden wings were furled,
He blessed the beams of the sunset bright,
For he knew they had gone, with their soft delight,
        To picture[?] the ??? which curled
In the new-born ray of the morning sun
Around the home of his far-off one,
And when the light was faded away,
He wept that he was doomed to stay.

                        V.
Full long ago had the worm of despair
        Been gnawing in his heart,
But that he had fondly cherished there
The hope that when all his years of care
        Should leave him to depart,
His soul made free from its prison of clay, 
Would fly on the wings of joy away, 
And blend with the soul of his lovely bride, 
        In their olden home o'er the rearing tide.

                        VI.
But how might he depart in bliss
        To his home in the Better Land,
While the fetters encircled his limbs in this, 
Or ever the arms he waved were his, 
        Unswayed by a lord's command?
For the iron had gall'd his very soul, 
And bowed it down with a fell control, 
And though the strength of his days was past, 
He toiled that he might die free at last.

                        VII.
Not that a few brief hours of joy
        Might close his measured span,
For when cares came like a flood, to destroy, 
‘Twere a stronger hope it needed to buoy 
        The soul of that old grey man.
He had mocked the name of the white man's God, 
For a Christian's heel on his bosom trod, 
But the God he adored was a spirit of love, 
        Who hovered his own bright home above.

                        VIII.
Twas his life's one thought to meet him there,
        Where the soul of the Afric flew;
But O! ‘twere a burning shame to bear 
The chain, where the princely heroes were 
        In the land of the Loved and True.
His head was weak, though his spirit was strong:
And he could not break the shackles of wrong.
And he toiled to buy bat one free breath, 
Ere he gave his form to the jaws of Death.

                        IX
‘Twas the last fond hope of a weary one
        Borne down with years of wo, 
And when the toil of his life was done, 
The golden treasure by midnight won,—
        His all of wealth below,-
He brought and laid at his master's feet, 
While his heart to a new-born gladness beat, 
As he thought that his dying breath should be 
The breath of the chainless one and free.

                        X.
The Robber seized on the glittering dust, 
        And vowed to break the chain;
But oh, the strength of his fiendish lust!
The poor old mar from his door he thrust, 
        And bade to his toil again.
But he toiled no more, for his heart had broke,
No tear was wept and no word was spoke, 
He sunk to the earth—his labor was done, 
The chain was left but his soul had