 | A Dream |  |
31
LYDIA.
Ev'ning's sun, in dying beauty,
Sank beneath the crimson west,
Throwing off its fading blessing,
Bidding one more day to rest;
Gently kissing old Missouri's
Beautiful but slave-cursed soil,
Making slaves all sigh for freedom,
As to home they plod from toil.
Joyous was the matron's singing,
With its melody that night;
Like a bird she sang so gaily,
Voice as angel's choral flight.
Round in Wilson's mansion grey,
Gaily in the ev'ning twilight,
Sang she of the dying day,
Sang she of the cause of freedom,
And of master and of slave;
Sadly sang she, melancholy,
Of the life beyond the grave.
By her, in gay childish beauty,
Sang a maiden, fair and young,
Beaming, smiling, day was dying,
As in joy her song she sung;
Singing, never dreaming sorrows,
That their care on to her grave;
Onward, always would they follow,
She was chattel and a slave.
Sing thou on, O little Lydia,
Sing thou on in childish grace;
For God sees thee singing gaily,
And he pities thy young face.
Thy reward shall be in heaven,
As God looks on every slave
With compassion, kind and watchful,
Helping, teaching sin to brave;
Brave thy trials where thou goest,
Far or near, throughout the land,
Ever guided, ever watchful,
Of God's great, all-guiding hand.
Sank beneath the crimson west,
Throwing off its fading blessing,
Bidding one more day to rest;
Gently kissing old Missouri's
Beautiful but slave-cursed soil,
Making slaves all sigh for freedom,
As to home they plod from toil.
Joyous was the matron's singing,
With its melody that night;
Like a bird she sang so gaily,
Voice as angel's choral flight.
32
Gaily in the ev'ning twilight,
Sang she of the dying day,
Sang she of the cause of freedom,
And of master and of slave;
Sadly sang she, melancholy,
Of the life beyond the grave.
By her, in gay childish beauty,
Sang a maiden, fair and young,
Beaming, smiling, day was dying,
As in joy her song she sung;
Singing, never dreaming sorrows,
That their care on to her grave;
Onward, always would they follow,
She was chattel and a slave.
Sing thou on, O little Lydia,
Sing thou on in childish grace;
For God sees thee singing gaily,
And he pities thy young face.
Thy reward shall be in heaven,
As God looks on every slave
With compassion, kind and watchful,
Helping, teaching sin to brave;
Brave thy trials where thou goest,
Far or near, throughout the land,
33
Of God's great, all-guiding hand.
Far above a light was beaming,
With a gloomy, spectral light,
Shining on two evil faces,
Who sat planning all that night:
Planning for the life of Lydia,
Planning for her very soul,
Planning for her lawful freedom,
Because one her freedom stole.
She'd been free, her father'd bought her,
When for self and wife he'd paid,
By hard work and by hard earnings,
But they foiled him—plan long laid.
“Well,” said Wilson, one of the planners,
“We have papers now to win;
Though the law and the court go with us,
Some will say it is a sin.”
Then the other answered gruffly:
“What of sin and why should you
Care to talk of things so foolish?
Come, we'll have this matter through,
Straighten out this horrid tangle
Who were slaves and who were free.
Did you say he had five children?
What about the chubby three?”
“This the way it was, dear Maxie,”
Said old Wilson at his side,
“Three were paid for, not this free-born:
Fourth one, nearly, but she died;
And, you know, I could not lose it,
So I kept this free born one.
Though born free, I may yet hold her;
If I don't we'll have some fun.
Though we know the law is with us
If we bribe the court and all.
If we fail, we must then steal her,
Send her farther south next fall.
She is worth a thousand dollars,
And no foolishness must be.
We must not in this make errors,
Listen to my plan and see.
If the court should side against us
We must steal her from the place;
Kill her father, knock him senseless,
Anything to win our race.
“He is free,” said Wilson, dryly,
“And you know he still may win;
If he does you must be ready
With the team, our Buck and Fin.
Then you bear her off to safety,
Where you'll be they'll never know.
Now to bed as all is ready
You prepare to strike the blow.
Ere to-morrow's sun is setting,
Money, or the girl is mine.
At the court house you be ready,
You be ready, rig and line.
Then to bed they crept off gaily
In their base and sinful glee.
Men of nobleness, all called them,
Living in a land that's free.
With a gloomy, spectral light,
Shining on two evil faces,
Who sat planning all that night:
Planning for the life of Lydia,
Planning for her very soul,
Planning for her lawful freedom,
Because one her freedom stole.
She'd been free, her father'd bought her,
When for self and wife he'd paid,
By hard work and by hard earnings,
But they foiled him—plan long laid.
“Well,” said Wilson, one of the planners,
“We have papers now to win;
Though the law and the court go with us,
Some will say it is a sin.”
Then the other answered gruffly:
“What of sin and why should you
Care to talk of things so foolish?
Come, we'll have this matter through,
Straighten out this horrid tangle
Who were slaves and who were free.
34
What about the chubby three?”
“This the way it was, dear Maxie,”
Said old Wilson at his side,
“Three were paid for, not this free-born:
Fourth one, nearly, but she died;
And, you know, I could not lose it,
So I kept this free born one.
Though born free, I may yet hold her;
If I don't we'll have some fun.
Though we know the law is with us
If we bribe the court and all.
If we fail, we must then steal her,
Send her farther south next fall.
She is worth a thousand dollars,
And no foolishness must be.
We must not in this make errors,
Listen to my plan and see.
If the court should side against us
We must steal her from the place;
Kill her father, knock him senseless,
Anything to win our race.
“He is free,” said Wilson, dryly,
“And you know he still may win;
35
With the team, our Buck and Fin.
Then you bear her off to safety,
Where you'll be they'll never know.
Now to bed as all is ready
You prepare to strike the blow.
Ere to-morrow's sun is setting,
Money, or the girl is mine.
At the court house you be ready,
You be ready, rig and line.
Then to bed they crept off gaily
In their base and sinful glee.
Men of nobleness, all called them,
Living in a land that's free.
Just across the Mississippi,
In a land where all were free,
In a cabin sadly sitting
Man and wife and children three.
As the fire glowed like demons
On the wall with brilliant light,
Sadly shook a grey head slowly:
“We will know to-morrow night,
We will know if Lydia, darling,
Will be with us, well and free.
We will know if we can win her.
Wife, to-morrow night we'll see.
Yes, I know I had those papers,
But they're gone, I know not where,
And the law, and we are negroes,
If on laws true, well we'll fare
But to bribery they'll resort to
They will steal my darling child.
Thou, O, God! can't thou have mercy!
Oh! the thoughts, they drive me wild!
Yes, I'll win, or I will kill him!”
And his face grew ashen white.
Then he cried “May God, forgive me!”
Then he walked into the night;
Down beside the Mississippi,
Wending down his feeble way,
There beside her muddy waters
Humbly knelt he down to pray,
“Wilt thou help me, God of mercy!”
Prayed the old man bent with years,
“Give me back my Lydia, darling,”
Sobbed he through his sighs and tears.
Then, returning to his cabin,
Went the old man on his way,
Thinking of the coming morrow,
Praying for the coming day.
Jimmie, Alf and Daniel, crying,
Leaped on father so forlorn;
Then all sat and watched together
For the court on coming morn.
In a land where all were free,
In a cabin sadly sitting
Man and wife and children three.
As the fire glowed like demons
On the wall with brilliant light,
Sadly shook a grey head slowly:
“We will know to-morrow night,
We will know if Lydia, darling,
Will be with us, well and free.
36
Wife, to-morrow night we'll see.
Yes, I know I had those papers,
But they're gone, I know not where,
And the law, and we are negroes,
If on laws true, well we'll fare
But to bribery they'll resort to
They will steal my darling child.
Thou, O, God! can't thou have mercy!
Oh! the thoughts, they drive me wild!
Yes, I'll win, or I will kill him!”
And his face grew ashen white.
Then he cried “May God, forgive me!”
Then he walked into the night;
Down beside the Mississippi,
Wending down his feeble way,
There beside her muddy waters
Humbly knelt he down to pray,
“Wilt thou help me, God of mercy!”
Prayed the old man bent with years,
“Give me back my Lydia, darling,”
Sobbed he through his sighs and tears.
Then, returning to his cabin,
Went the old man on his way,
Thinking of the coming morrow,
Praying for the coming day.
37
Leaped on father so forlorn;
Then all sat and watched together
For the court on coming morn.
Nine o'clock one summer's morning
Rang a court house bell so clear,
Soon to tell the fate of Lydia,
Pealed the bell afar and near.
Round inside there sat the jury
With their faces grave and wise,
Ready for the days proceedings
Duly sworn by all the skies.
In a seat inside the railing
Sat a beaming, smiling face
Ah, too young to understand
Why she sat within that place.
Close upon a bench was sitting,
With his boys, the father grey,
Boys were waiting for their sister
To be free that sad, bright day.
Not a word to them was spoken,
As the court went through its form.
All the trial was going with them,
Clouds were going from the storm.
Wilson swore she was not free born,
That was all for lying gain,
While the old man bent more lowly,
Never once his faith did wane.
Soon the trial was all over
And the jury went to find
That the fraud was all with Wilson
Dyed in sin for good, long time.
When the jury from their closet
Came out with their verdict sealed;
Then the old man gained his footing,
As the judge his case revealed
“There's no cause for action,” said he,
With a voice loud, clear and strong,
“That girl Lydia's free as water
And this case is surely wrong.”
Quickly o'er the railing sprang he
The old man to clasp his girl;
But a figure stepped between them
In the busy court house whirl.
There the father saw her vanish,
Saw her dragged upon her feet,
With one great and mighty effort
He stood by her empty seat.
Then he saw the open doorway,
And through it he quickly sprang,
But a blow from but-whip felled him
To the floor with one hard bang.
There stood Lydia, frightened, crying,
While a man around her bound
Rope, and swinging her half fainting,
From the window to the ground.
That's the last he ever saw her,
Though he hunted far and near
Over cities, and prairie,
Still with hopings, scorning fear,
Till his days were sadly ended,
Till he sank into his grave,
Did he watch and search for Lydia,
Till he died, she still a slave,
Then his children, when in manhood,
Searched to find their sister, lost,
With their strong hearts brave and dauntless
Minding not the work or cost,
Where she was or where she's living
Though the war has freed them all,
Will be known by Him in Heaven,
When we answer Gabriel's call.
I am hunting with this poem
Hoping that she may still read,
That she's not forgotten, Lydia,
May it to her loved ones lead.
Rang a court house bell so clear,
Soon to tell the fate of Lydia,
Pealed the bell afar and near.
Round inside there sat the jury
With their faces grave and wise,
Ready for the days proceedings
Duly sworn by all the skies.
In a seat inside the railing
Sat a beaming, smiling face
Ah, too young to understand
Why she sat within that place.
Close upon a bench was sitting,
With his boys, the father grey,
Boys were waiting for their sister
To be free that sad, bright day.
Not a word to them was spoken,
As the court went through its form.
All the trial was going with them,
Clouds were going from the storm.
38
That was all for lying gain,
While the old man bent more lowly,
Never once his faith did wane.
Soon the trial was all over
And the jury went to find
That the fraud was all with Wilson
Dyed in sin for good, long time.
When the jury from their closet
Came out with their verdict sealed;
Then the old man gained his footing,
As the judge his case revealed
“There's no cause for action,” said he,
With a voice loud, clear and strong,
“That girl Lydia's free as water
And this case is surely wrong.”
Quickly o'er the railing sprang he
The old man to clasp his girl;
But a figure stepped between them
In the busy court house whirl.
There the father saw her vanish,
Saw her dragged upon her feet,
With one great and mighty effort
He stood by her empty seat.
39
And through it he quickly sprang,
But a blow from but-whip felled him
To the floor with one hard bang.
There stood Lydia, frightened, crying,
While a man around her bound
Rope, and swinging her half fainting,
From the window to the ground.
That's the last he ever saw her,
Though he hunted far and near
Over cities, and prairie,
Still with hopings, scorning fear,
Till his days were sadly ended,
Till he sank into his grave,
Did he watch and search for Lydia,
Till he died, she still a slave,
Then his children, when in manhood,
Searched to find their sister, lost,
With their strong hearts brave and dauntless
Minding not the work or cost,
Where she was or where she's living
Though the war has freed them all,
Will be known by Him in Heaven,
When we answer Gabriel's call.
40
Hoping that she may still read,
That she's not forgotten, Lydia,
May it to her loved ones lead.
It may add to the interest of this poem if it be known that the story is a true one and that the Lydia of it was, or is, if yet living, the author's aunt, who was stolen into slavery in identically the way as herein described. It is not definitely known whether the author's grandfather was free born, or whether he bought his own freedom. It is supposed, however, that he was a free mulatto. He figured so prominently in running slaves from Missouri by the underground railway that there was at one time a reward placed upon his head, and he always slept on the floor of his cabin in Illinois with the door open and his gun by his side. After long lawing for Lydia and at last having her stolen away forever, he succeeded in running twenty slaves from Missouri in a single night, mostly relatives, among which was his son, the author's father, whom he took in his arms on the west bank of the Mississippi, and, after rowing him across the river to Quincy, Illinois, he carried him all the way to Canada on his back.
| A Dream | |