With blindness every one;
Ten days we've floated fearfully,
Unnoting star or sun.
Our ship 's the slaver Leon,--
We've but a score on board;
Our slaves are all gone over,--
Help, for the love of God!"

On livid brows of agony
The broad red lightning shone;
But the roar of wind and thunder
Stifled the answering groan;
Wailed from the broken waters
A last despairing cry,
As, kindling in the stormy' light,
The stranger ship went by.

. . . . . . . . .

In the sunny Guadaloupe
A dark-hulled vessel lay,
With a crew who noted never
The nightfall or the day.
The blossom of the orange
Was white by every stream,
And tropic leaf, and flower, and bird
Were in the warns sunbeam.

And the sky was bright as ever,
And the moonlight slept as well,