Unto her heart, whose throbbings, loud and deep,
Beat an alarum through the infant's sleep.

But soon her master, as he hasten'd off
With his new purchases, the infant caught,
And bid the mother, with a heartless scoff,
Fling it away: said he, "'Tis good for nought;
None of this lumber can we have, the road
Is long enough to tread without a load."

The mother clasp'd her babe with bitter cry,
But a rude hand enforced it from her arms,
And the rough steward held it up on high,
Laughing aloud the while at her alarms;
Said he unto his master; "This shall be
A bait to draw her on with willingly."

He bound around the infant's waist a line,
That fasten'd to his crupper, and then gave
The babe back to her, laughing,--"That end's thine--
The other stays with me;" "A witty slave!"
The master chuckled, and they moved away,
She following with anguish and dismay.

They journey'd o'er the desert, 'neath a sky
Scorch'd by the fiery footsteps of the sun,
Without a shade to bless the wistful eye;
And soon her fellow slaves droop'd, one by one,
Callous to blows that harshly drove them on,
Strength, hope, and love of life all seeming gone.