The Portable Nineteenth-Century African American Women Writers by Various & Hollis Robbins & Henry Louis Gates & Hollis Robbins & Henry Louis Gates

Author:Various & Hollis Robbins & Henry Louis Gates & Hollis Robbins & Henry Louis Gates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-07-25T04:00:00+00:00

Newfound Poems from Forest Leaves (ca. 1840)

SOURCE: Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, “Haman and Mordecai,” “A Dream,” “The Felon’s Dream,” Forest Leaves (Baltimore: James Young, ca. 1840).

“Haman and Mordecai”

He stood at Persia’s Palace gate

And vassal round him bow’d,

Upon his brow was written hate

And he heeded not the crowd.

He heeded not the vassal throng

Whose praises rent the air,

His bosom shook with rage and scorn

For Mordecai stood there.

When ev’ry satrap bow’d

To him of noble blood,

Amid that servile crowd

One form unbending stood.

And as he gaz’d upon that form,

Dark flash’d his angry eye,

’Twas as the light’ning ere the storm

Hath swept in fury by.

On noble Mordecai alone,

He scorn’d to lay his land;

But sought an edict from the throne

’Gainst all the captive band.

For full of pride and wrath

To his fell purpose true,

He vow’d that from his path

Should perish ev’ry Jew.

Then woman’s voice arose

In deep impassion’d prayer,

Her fragile heart grew strong

’Twas the nervings of despair.

The king in mercy heard

Her pleading and her prayer,

His heart with pity stirr’d,

And he resolved to spare.

And Haman met the fate

He’d for Mordecai decreed,

And from his cruel hate

The captive Jews are freed.

“A Dream”

I had a dream, a varied dream,

A dream of joy and dread;

Before me rose the judgment scene

For God had raised the dead.

Oh for an angel’s hand to paint

The glories of that day,

When God did gather home each saint

And wipe their tears away.

Each waiting one lifted his head

Rejoic’d to see him nigh,

And earth cast out her sainted dead

To meet him in the sky.

Before his white and burning throne

A countless throng did stand;

Whilst Christ confess’d his own,

Whose names were on his hand.

I had a dream, a varied dream,

A dream of joy and dread;

Before me rose the judgment scene

For God had rais’d the dead.

Oh for an angel’s hand to paint

The terrors of that day,

When God in vengeance for his saints

Girded himself with wrath to slay.

But, oh the terror, grief, and dread,

Tongue can’t describe or pen portray;

When from their graves arose the dead,

Guilty to meet the judgment day.

As sudden as the lightning’s flash

Across the sky doth sweep,

Earth’s kingdom’s were in pieces dash’d,

And waken’d from their guilty sleep.

I heard the agonizing cry,

Ye rocks and mountains on us fall,

And hide us from the Judge’s eye,

But rocks and mounts fled from the call.

I saw the guilty ruin’d host

Standing before the burning throne,

The ruin’d, lost forever lost,

Whom God in wrath refus’d to own.

“The Felon’s Dream”

He slept, but oh, it was not calm,

As in the days of infancy;

When sleep is nature’s tender balm

To hearts from sorrow free.

He dream’d that fetters bound him fast,

He pin’d for liberty;

It seem’d deliverance came at last

And he from bonds were free.

In thought he journey’d where

Familiar voices rose,

Where not a brow was dim with care,

Or bosom heav’d with woes.

Around him press’d a happy band;

His wife and child drew near;

He felt the pressure of her hand,

And dried each falling tear.

His tender mother cast aside

The tears that dim’d her eye;

His father saw him as the pride

Of brighter days gone by.

He saw his wife around him cling,

He heard her breathe his name;

Oh! woman’s love ’s a precious thing,

A pure undying flame.

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