The Slave Mother

Heard you that shriek? It rose

So wildly on the air,

It seem’d as if a burden’d heart

Was breaking in despair.

Saw you those hands so sadly clasped—

The bowed and feeble head—

The shuddering of that fragile form—

That look of grief and dread?

Saw you the sad, imploring eye?

Its every glance was pain,

As if a storm of agony

Were sweeping through the brain.

She is a mother pale with fear,

Her boy clings to her side,

And in her kyrtle vainly tries

His trembling form to hide.

He is not hers, although she bore

For him a mother’s pains;

He is not hers, although her blood

Is coursing through his veins!