Chapter 4

My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing; For I would hail and check that ship of ships. I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud, My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips, And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing, O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark! Is there no hope for me? Is there no way That I may sight and check that speeding bark Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

LOVER'S LANE

Summah night an' sighin' breeze, 'Long de lovah's lane; Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees, 'Long de lovah's lane. White folks' wo'k all done up gran'-- Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han' Struttin' lak we owned de lan', 'Long de lovah's lane.

Owl a-settin' 'side de road, 'Long de lovah's lane, Lookin' at us lak he knowed Dis uz lovah's lane. Go on, hoot yo' Mou'nful tune, You ain' nevah loved in June, An' come hidin' f'om de moon Down in lovah's lane.

Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway, Down in lovah's lane, Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say 'Long de lovah's lane. But I whispahs low lak dis, An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss-- Mistah Bush he shek his fis', Down in lovah's lane.

Whut I keer ef day is long, Down in lovah's lane. I kin allus sing a song 'Long de lovah's lane. An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say Meks up fu' de weary day Wen I's strollin' by de way, Down in lovah's lane.

An' dis t'ought will allus rise Down in lovah's lane; Wondah whethah in de skies Dey's a lovah's lane. Ef dey ain't, I tell you true, 'Ligion do look mighty blue, 'Cause I do' know whut I'd do 'Dout a lovah's lane.

THE DEBT

This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief. Sorrow without relief.

Pay it I will to the end-- Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release-- Gives me the clasp of peace.

Slight was the thing I bought, Small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best-- God! but the interest!

THE HAUNTED OAK

Pray why are you so bare, so bare, Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw, Runs a shudder over me?

My leaves were green as the best, I trow, And sap ran free in my veins, But I saw in the moonlight dim and weird A guiltless victim's pains.

I bent me down to hear his sigh; I shook with his gurgling moan, And I trembled sore when they rode away, And left him here alone.

They'd charged him with the old, old crime, And set him fast in jail: Oh, why does the dog howl all night long, And why does the night wind wail?

He prayed his prayer and he swore his oath, And he raised his hand to the sky; But the beat of hoofs smote on his ear, And the steady tread drew nigh.

Who is it rides by night, by night, Over the moonlit road? And what is the spur that keeps the pace, What is the galling goad?

And now they beat at the prison door, "Ho, keeper, do not stay! We are friends of him whom you hold within, And we fain would take him away

From those who ride fast on our heels With mind to do him wrong; They have no care for his innocence, And the rope they bear is long."

They have fooled the jailer with lying words, They have fooled the man with lies; The bolts unbar, the locks are drawn, And the great door open flies.

Now they have taken him from the jail, And hard and fast they ride, And the leader laughs low down in his throat, As they halt my trunk beside.

Oh, the judge, he wore a mask of black, And the doctor one of white, And the minister, with his oldest son, Was curiously bedight.

Oh, foolish man, why weep you now? 'Tis but a little space, And the time will come when these shall dread The mem'ry of your face.

I feel the rope against my bark, And the weight of him in my grain, I feel in the throe of his final woe The touch of my own last pain.

And never more shall leaves come forth On a bough that bears the ban; I am burned with dread, I am dried and dead, From the curse of a guiltless man.

And ever the judge rides by, rides by, And goes to hunt the deer, And ever another rides his soul In the guise of a mortal fear.

And ever the man he rides me hard, And never a night stays he; For I feel his curse as a haunted bough On the trunk of a haunted tree.

WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT

Dey is times in life when Nature Seems to slip a cog an' go, Jes' a-rattlin' down creation, Lak an ocean's overflow; When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin' Lak a picaninny's top, An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin' 'Twell it seems about to slop, An' you feel jes' lak a racah, Dat is trainin' fu' to trot-- When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone's hot.

When you set down at de table, Kin' o' weary lak an' sad, An' you'se jes' a little tiahed An' purhaps a little mad; How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness, How yo' joy drives out de doubt When de oven do' is opened, An' de smell comes po'in' out; Why, de 'lectric light o' Heaven Seems to settle on de spot, When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone's hot.

When de cabbage pot is steamin' An' de bacon good an' fat, When de chittlins is a-sputter'n' So's to show you whah dey's at; Tek away yo' sody biscuit, Tek away yo' cake an' pie, Fu' de glory time is comin', An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh, An' you want to jump an' hollah, Dough you know you'd bettah not, When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone's hot.

I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons, An' I've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers, An' I've listened to some singin' Dat has tuck me up de stairs Of de Glory-Lan' an' set me Jes' below de Mastah's th'one, An' have lef my hea't a-singin' In a happy aftah tone; But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmured Seem to tech de softes' spot, When my mammy says de blessin', An' de co'n pone's hot.

A DEATH SONG

Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass, Whah de branch'll go a-singin' as it pass An' w'en I's a-layin' low, I kin hyeah it as it go Singin', "Sleep, my honey, tek yo' res' at las'."

Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a little pool, An' de watah stan's so quiet lak an' cool, Whah de little birds in spring, Ust to come an' drink an' sing, An' de chillen waded on dey way to school.

Let me settle w'en my shouldahs draps dey load Nigh enough to hyeah de noises in de road; Fu' I t'ink de las' long res' Gwine to soothe my sperrit bes' If I's layin' 'mong de t'ings I's allus knowed.

James Edwin Campbell

NEGRO SERENADE

O, de light-bugs glimmer down de lane, Merlindy! Merlindy! O, de whip'-will callin' notes ur pain-- Merlindy, O, Merlindy! O, honey lub, my turkle dub, Doan' you hyuh my bawnjer ringin', While de night-dew falls an' de ho'n owl calls By de ol' ba'n gate Ise singin'.

O, Miss 'Lindy, doan' you hyuh me, chil', Merlindy! Merlindy! My lub fur you des dribe me wil'-- Merlindy, O, Merlindy! I'll sing dis night twel broad day-light, Ur bu's' my froat wid tryin', 'Less you come down, Miss 'Lindy Brown, An' stops dis ha't f'um sighin'!

DE CUNJAH MAN

O chillen, run, de Cunjah man, Him mouf ez beeg ez fryin' pan, Him yurs am small, him eyes am raid, Him hab no toof een him ol' haid, Him hab him roots, him wu'k him trick, Him roll him eye, him mek you sick-- De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Him hab ur ball ob raid, raid ha'r, Him hide it un' de kitchen sta'r, Mam Jude huh pars urlong dat way, An' now huh hab ur snaik, de say. Him wrop ur roun' huh buddy tight, Huh eyes pop out, ur orful sight-- De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Miss Jane, huh dribe him f'um huh do', An' now huh hens woan' lay no mo'; De Jussey cow huh done fall sick, Hit all done by de Cunjah trick. Him put ur root un' 'Lijah's baid, An' now de man he sho' am daid-- De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Me see him stan' de yudder night Right een de road een white moon-light; Him toss him arms, him whirl him 'roun', Him stomp him foot urpon de groun'; De snaiks come crawlin', one by one, Me hyuh um hiss, me break an' run-- De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

UNCLE EPH'S BANJO SONG

Clean de ba'n an' sweep de flo', Sing, my bawnjer, sing! We's gwine ter dawnce dis eb'nin' sho', Ring, my bawnjer, ring! Den hits up de road an' down de lane, Hurry, niggah, you miss de train; De yaller gal she dawnce so neat, De yaller gal she look so sweet, Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

De moon come up, de sun go down, Sing, my bawnjer, sing! De niggahs am all come f'um town, Ring, my bawnjer, ring! Den hits roun' de hill an' froo de fiel'-- Lookout dar, niggah, doan' you steal! De milyuns on dem vines am green, De moon am bright, O you'll be seen, Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

OL' DOC' HYAR

Ur ol' Hyar lib in ur house on de hill, He hunner yurs ol' an' nebber wuz ill; He yurs dee so long an' he eyes so beeg, An' he laigs so spry dat he dawnce ur jeeg; He lib so long dat he know ebbry tings 'Bout de beas'ses dat walks an' de bu'ds dat sings-- Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar, Whar lib up dar Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

He doctah fur all de beas'ses an' bu'ds-- He put on he specs an' he use beeg wu'ds, He feel dee pu's' den he look mighty wise, He pull out he watch an' he shet bofe eyes; He grab up he hat an' grab up he cane, Den--"blam!" go de do'--he gone lak de train, Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar, Whar lib up dar Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

Mistah Ba'r fall sick--dee sont fur Doc' Hyar, "O, Doctah, come queeck, an' see Mr. B'ar; He mighty nigh daid des sho' ez you b'on!" "Too much ur young peeg, too much ur green co'n," Ez he put on he hat, said Ol' Doc' Hyar; "I'll tek 'long meh lawnce, an' lawnce Mistah B'ar," Said Ol' Doc' Hyar, Whar lib up dar Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

Mistah B'ar he groaned, Mistah B'ar he growled, W'ile de ol' Miss B'ar an' de chillen howled; Doctah Hyar tuk out he sha'p li'l lawnce, An' pyu'ced Mistah B'ar twel he med him prawnce Den grab up he hat an' grab up he cane "Blam!" go de do' an' he gone lak de train, Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar, Whar lib up dar Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

But de vay naix day Mistah B'ar he daid; Wen dee tell Doc' Hyar, he des scratch he haid: "Ef pahsons git well ur pahsons git wu's, Money got ter come een de Ol' Hyar's pu's; Not wut folkses does, but fur wut dee know Does de folkses git paid"--an' Hyar larfed low, Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar, Whar lib up dar Een de mighty fine house on de mighty high hill!

WHEN OL' SIS' JUDY PRAY

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, De teahs come stealin' down my cheek, De voice ur God widin me speak'; I see myse'f so po' an' weak, Down on my knees de cross I seek, When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, De thun'ers ur Mount Sin-a-i Comes rushin' down f'um up on high-- De Debbil tu'n his back an' fly While sinnahs loud fur pa'don cry, When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, Ha'd sinnahs trimble in dey seat Ter hyuh huh voice in sorro 'peat; (While all de chu'ch des sob an' weep) "O Shepa'd, dese, dy po' los' sheep!" When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, De whole house hit des rock an' moan Ter see huh teahs an' hyuh huh groan; Dar's somepin' in Sis' Judy's tone Dat melt all ha'ts dough med ur stone When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, Salvation's light comes pourin' down-- Hit fill de chu'ch an' all de town-- Why, angels' robes go rustlin' 'roun', An' hebben on de Yurf am foun', When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray, My soul go sweepin' up on wings, An' loud de chu'ch wid "Glory!" rings, An' wide de gates ur Jahsper swings Twel you hyuh ha'ps wid golding strings, When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

COMPENSATION

O, rich young lord, thou ridest by With looks of high disdain; It chafes me not thy title high, Thy blood of oldest strain. The lady riding at thy side Is but in name thy promised bride, Ride on, young lord, ride on!

Her father wills and she obeys, The custom of her class; 'Tis Land not Love the trothing sways-- For Land he sells his lass. Her fair white hand, young lord, is thine, Her _soul_, proud fool, her _soul_ is mine, Ride on, young lord, ride on!

No title high my father bore; The tenant of thy farm, He left me what I value more: Clean heart, clear brain, strong arm And love for bird and beast and bee And song of lark and hymn of sea, Ride on, young lord, ride on!

The boundless sky to me belongs, The paltry acres thine; The painted beauty sings thy songs, The lavrock lilts me mine; The hot-housed orchid blooms for thee, The gorse and heather bloom for me, Ride on, young lord, ride on!

James D. Corrothers

AT THE CLOSED GATE OF JUSTICE

To be a Negro in a day like this Demands forgiveness. Bruised with blow on blow, Betrayed, like him whose woe dimmed eyes gave bliss Still must one succor those who brought one low, To be a Negro in a day like this.

To be a Negro in a day like this Demands rare patience--patience that can wait In utter darkness. 'Tis the path to miss, And knock, unheeded, at an iron gate, To be a Negro in a day like this.

To be a Negro in a day like this Demands strange loyalty. We serve a flag Which is to us white freedom's emphasis. Ah! one must love when Truth and Justice lag, To be a Negro in a day like this.

To be a Negro in a day like this-- Alas! Lord God, what evil have we done? Still shines the gate, all gold and amethyst, But I pass by, the glorious goal unwon, "Merely a Negro"--in a day like this!

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

He came, a youth, singing in the dawn Of a new freedom, glowing o'er his lyre, Refining, as with great Apollo's fire, His people's gift of song. And thereupon, This Negro singer, come to Helicon Constrained the masters, listening to admire, And roused a race to wonder and aspire, Gazing which way their honest voice was gone, With ebon face uplit of glory's crest. Men marveled at the singer, strong and sweet, Who brought the cabin's mirth, the tuneful night, But faced the morning, beautiful with light, To die while shadows yet fell toward the west, And leave his laurels at his people's feet.

Dunbar, no poet wears your laurels now; None rises, singing, from your race like you. Dark melodist, immortal, though the dew Fell early on the bays upon your brow, And tinged with pathos every halcyon vow And brave endeavor. Silence o'er you threw Flowerets of love. Or, if an envious few Of your own people brought no garlands, how Could Malice smite him whom the gods had crowned? If, like the meadow-lark, your flight was low Your flooded lyrics half the hilltops drowned; A wide world heard you, and it loved you so It stilled its heart to list the strains you sang, And o'er your happy songs its plaudits rang.

THE NEGRO SINGER

O'er all my song the image of a face Lieth, like shadow on the wild sweet flowers. The dream, the ecstasy that prompts my powers; The golden lyre's delights bring little grace To bless the singer of a lowly race. Long hath this mocked me: aye in marvelous hours, When Hera's gardens gleamed, or Cynthia's bowers, Or Hope's red pylons, in their far, hushed place! But I shall dig me deeper to the gold; Fetch water, dripping, over desert miles, From clear Nyanzas and mysterious Niles Of love; and sing, nor one kind act withhold. So shall men know me, and remember long, Nor my dark face dishonor any song.

THE ROAD TO THE BOW

Ever and ever anon, After the black storm, the eternal, beauteous bow! Brother, to rosy-painted mists that arch beyond, Blithely I go.

My brows men laureled and my lyre Twined with immortal ivy for one little rippling song; My "House of Golden Leaves" they praised and "passionate fire"-- But, Friend, the way is long!

Onward and onward, up! away! Though Fear flaunt all his banners in my face, And my feet stumble, lo! the Orphean Day! Forward by God's grace!

These signs are still before me: "Fear," "Danger," "Unprecedented," and I hear black "No" Still thundering, and "Churl." Good Friend, I rest me here-- Then to the glittering bow!

Loometh and cometh Hate in wrath, Mailed Wrong, swart Servitude and Shame with bitter rue, Nathless a Negro poet's feet must tread the path The winged god knew.

Thus, my true Brother, dream-led, I Forefend the anathema, following the span. I hold my head as proudly high As any man.

IN THE MATTER OF TWO MEN

One does such work as one will not, And well each knows the right; Though the white storm howls, or the sun is hot, The black must serve the white. And it's, oh, for the white man's softening flesh, While the black man's muscles grow! Well I know which grows the mightier, _I_ know; full well I know.

The white man seeks the soft, fat place, And he moves and he works by rule. Ingenious grows the humbler race In Oppression's prodding school. And it's, oh, for a white man gone to seed, While the Negro struggles so! And I know which race develops most, I know; yes, well I know.

The white man rides in a palace car, And the Negro rides "Jim Crow." To damn the other with bolt and bar, One creepeth so low; so low! And it's, oh, for a master's nose in the mire, While the humbled hearts o'erflow! Well I know whose soul grows big at this, And whose grows small; _I know_!

The white man leases out his land, And the Negro tills the same. One works; one loafs and takes command; But I know who wins the game! And it's, oh, for the white man's shrinking soil, As the black's rich acres grow! Well I know how the signs point out at last, I know; ah, well I know!

The white man votes for his color's sake, While the black, for his is barred; (Though "ignorance" is the charge they make), But the black man studies hard. And it's, oh, for the white man's sad neglect, For the power of his light let go! So, I know which man must win at last, I know! Ah, Friend, I know!

AN INDIGNATION DINNER

Dey was hard times jes fo' Christmas round our neighborhood one year; So we held a secret meetin', whah de white folks couldn't hear, To 'scuss de situation, an' to see what could be done Towa'd a fust-class Christmas dinneh an' a little Christmas fun.

Rufus Green, who called de meetin', ris an' said: "In dis here town, An' throughout de land, de white folks is a-tryin' to keep us down." S' 'e: "Dey's bought us, sold us, beat us; now dey 'buse us 'ca'se we's free; But when dey tetch my stomach, dey's done gone too fur foh me!

"Is I right?" "You sho is, Rufus!" roared a dozen hungry throats. "Ef you'd keep a mule a-wo'kin', don't you tamper wid his oats. Dat's sense," continued Rufus. "But dese white folks nowadays Has done got so close and stingy you can't live on what dey pays.

"Here 'tis Christmas-time, an', folkses, I's indignant 'nough to choke. Whah's our Christmas dinneh comin' when we's 'mos' completely broke? I can't hahdly 'fo'd a toothpick an' a glass o' water. Mad? Say, I'm desp'ret! Dey jes better treat me nice, dese white folks had!"

Well, dey 'bused de white folks scan'lous, till old Pappy Simmons ris, Leanin' on his cane to s'pote him, on account his rheumatis', An' s' 'e: "Chilun, whut's dat wintry wind a-sighin' th'ough de street 'Bout yo' wasted summeh wages? But, no matter, we mus' eat.

"Now, I seed a beau'ful tuhkey on a certain gemmun's fahm. He's a-growin' fat an' sassy, an' a-struttin' to a chahm. Chickens, sheeps, hogs, sweet pertaters--all de craps is fine dis year; All we needs is a committee foh to tote de goodies here."

Well, we lit right in an' voted dat it was a gran idee, An' de dinneh we had Christmas was worth trabblin' miles to see; An' we eat a full an' plenty, big an' little, great an' small, Not beca'se we was dishonest, but indignant, sah. Dat's all.

DREAM AND THE SONG

So oft our hearts, belovèd lute, In blossomy haunts of song are mute; So long we pore, 'mid murmurings dull, O'er loveliness unutterable. So vain is all our passion strong! The dream is lovelier than the song.

The rose thought, touched by words, doth turn Wan ashes. Still, from memory's urn, The lingering blossoms tenderly Refute our wilding minstrelsy. Alas! we work but beauty's wrong! The dream is lovelier than the song.

Yearned Shelley o'er the golden flame? Left Keats for beauty's lure, a name But "writ in water"? Woe is me! To grieve o'er flowerful faëry. My Phasian doves are flown so long-- The dream is lovelier than the song!

Ah, though we build a bower of dawn, The golden-wingèd bird is gone, And morn may gild, through shimmering leaves, Only the swallow-twittering eaves. What art may house or gold prolong A dream far lovelier than a song?

The lilting witchery, the unrest Of wingèd dreams, is in our breast; But ever dear Fulfilment's eyes Gaze otherward. The long-sought prize, My lute, must to the gods belong. The dream is lovelier than the song.

Daniel Webster Davis

'WEH DOWN SOUF

O, de birds ar' sweetly singin', 'Weh down Souf, An' de banjer is a-ringin', 'Weh down Souf; An' my heart it is a-sighin', Whil' de moments am a-flyin', Fur my hom' I am a-cryin', 'Weh down Souf.

Dar de pickaninnies 's playin', 'Weh down Souf, An' fur dem I am a-prayin', 'Weh down Souf; An' when I gits sum munny, Yo' kin bet I'm goin', my hunny, Fur de lan' dat am so sunny, 'Weh down Souf.

Whil' de win' up here's a-blowin', 'Weh down Souf De corn is sweetly growin', 'Weh down Souf. Dey tells me here ub freedum, But I ain't a-gwine to heed um, But I'se gwine fur to lebe um, Fur 'weh down Souf.

I bin up here a-wuckin', From 'weh down Souf, An' I ain't a bin a-shurkin'-- I'm frum 'weh down Souf; But I'm gittin' mighty werry, An' de days a-gittin' drerry, An' I'm hongry, O, so berry, Fur my hom' down Souf.

O, de moon dar shines de brighter, 'Weh down Souf, An' I know my heart is lighter, 'Weh down Souf; An' de berry thought brings pledjur, I'll be happy dar 'dout medjur, Fur dar I hab my tredjur, 'Weh down Souf.

HOG MEAT

Deze eatin' folks may tell me ub de gloriz ub spring lam', An' de toofsumnis ub tuckey et wid cel'ry an' wid jam; Ub beef-st'ak fried wid unyuns, an' sezoned up so fine-- But you' jes' kin gimme hog-meat, an' I'm happy all de time.

When de fros' is on de pun'kin an' de sno'-flakes in de ar', I den begin rejoicin'--hog-killin' time is near; An' de vizhuns ub de fucher den fill my nightly dreams, Fur de time is fas' a-comin' fur de 'lishus pork an' beans.

We folks dat's frum de kuntry may be behin' de sun-- We don't like city eatin's, wid beefsteaks dat ain' done-- 'Dough mutton chops is splendid, an' dem veal cutlits fine, To me 'tain't like a sphar-rib, or gret big chunk ub chine.

Jes' talk to me 'bout hog-meat, ef yo' want to see me pleased, Fur biled wid beans tiz gor'jus, or made in hog-head cheese; An' I could jes' be happy, 'dout money, cloze or house, Wid plenty yurz an' pig feet made in ol'-fashun "souse."

I 'fess I'm only humun, I hab my joys an' cares-- Sum days de clouds hang hebby, sum days de skies ar' fair; But I forgib my in'miz, my heart is free frum hate, When my bread is filled wid cracklins an' dar's chidlins on my plate.

'Dough 'possum meat is glo'yus wid 'taters in de pan, But put 'longside pork sassage it takes a backward stan'; Ub all yer fancy eatin's, jes gib to me fur mine Sum souse or pork or chidlins, sum sphar-rib, or de chine.

William H.A. Moore

DUSK SONG

The garden is very quiet to-night, The dusk has gone with the Evening Star, And out on the bay a lone ship light Makes a silver pathway over the bar Where the sea sings low.

I follow the light with an earnest eye, Creeping along to the thick far-away, Until it fell in the depths of the deep, dark sky With the haunting dream of the dusk of day And its lovely glow.