Cassandra Southwick from THE CRACKLE by TOTTER

Last night I saw the sunset melt through my prison bars,~ Last night across my damp earth floor fell the pale gleam of stars:~ In the coldness and the darkness all through the long night-time,~ My grated casement whited with autumn’s early rime....~ All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on the morrow~ The ruler and the cruel priest would mock me in my sorrow.~ Oh, The Weakness Of The Flesh Was There, The Shrinking And The Shame;~ And The Low Voice Of The Tempter Like Whispers To Me Came~ “Why sit’s thou thus forlornly,” the wicked murmur said,~ “Damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thy maiden bed?~ And what a fate awaits thee! A sadly toiling slave,~ Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondage to the grave.”~ I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove in silent prayer,~ To feel, O Helper of the weak! That thou indeed were there...~ At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open cast,~ And slowly at the sheriff’s side, up the long street I passed.~ Chorus~ Then to the stout sea-captains, the sheriff, turning, said,~ “Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid?~ In the isle of fair Barbados, or on Virginia’s shore,~ You may sell her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor.”~ Chorus~ They growled back their stormy answer like the roaring of the sea,~ “Pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coins of Spanish gold,~ From keel-piece up to deck plank, the room-age of her hold,~ By the living God who makes me! I would sooner in your bay~ Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child away!”~ “Like the herdsman of Tekoa, in Israel of old,~ Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold?”~ Chorus~ I looked on the Governor, with weapon half-way drawn,~ Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn;~ Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and along with sneering clerk and priest.~ Bade me on my way with regret, And into freedom, I was released.~ For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen,~ And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men.~ All praise to Him, before whose power the mighty are afraid,~ Who takes the crafty in the snare for which the poor is laid~ For which the poor is laid~ For which the poor is laid~ All praise to Him, before whose power the mighty are afraid.

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