This text is part of:
Table of Contents:
Like some vast caravan, beneath the moon,
A breathing mass of black and ivory;
And o'er them all a high, shrill voice pealed forth
The burden of exhortation. I knew it well,
Old Adam Alston's voice; and thus it spoke:
”When I heard de bombshell screamina troo de woods
Like de Judgment Day, I said widin myself,
‘Suppose my head been took clean off dis night,
Dey couldn't put my soul in de torments. No,
No! not perceps I hab for an enemy
De Mos' High God!’ And when de bullets come,
Ho! dem dar bullets a-swishina across de deck,
I cried aloud, ‘Lord, help my congregation!
Boys, load and fire!’”
Then rang the strong Amens
And bursts of laughter from glad African lungs;
Then all was still but one blithe mocking-bird
High on the bank, and that strange ominous fowl
The chuck-will's-widow, and our engine's throb;
While Southern fire-flies, twice as large as ours,
Swarmed from the meadows to the tree-tops high
And hung there, clustering Pleiads, earthly stars.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.
An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.