Part 2 — PART II.

On high, from the heaven’s blue canopy, Many thousand stars are gleaming, Like the eyes of fair women, so large and clear, And with locks of yearning beaming. They’re looking down on the ocean below, Whose waves in the distance are curling, In phosphorescent blue vapour all veil’d, While the billows are joyously whirling. Not a sail on the slave-ship is fluttering now, As though without tackle she’s lying; But lanthorns are glimmering high on the decks Where the dance with the music is vying. The cook of the vessel is playing the flute, The steersman’s playing the fiddle, The trumpet is blown by the Doctor himself, And a lad beats the drum in the middle. A hundred niggers, both women and men, Are yelling and whirling and leaping, As though they were mad; and at every spring Their irons the tune are keeping. They stamp on the ground in uproarious mirth, And many a swarthy maiden Clasps her naked partner with warmth, while at times The air with their groanings is laden. The jailer acts as maître des plaisirs, And dealing his lashes so fearful, The weary dancers he stimulates, And bids them be merry and cheerful. So dideldumdei and schnedderedeng! The strange unwonted commotion Aroused from their lazy slumbers below The monsters fierce of the ocean. All-heavy with sleep, the sharks swam up, In numbers many a hundred; They stupidly stared at the ship on high With amazement, and blindly wondered. They see that their usual breakfast time Has not come as soon as ’tis wanted, So they gape and ope wide their throats, their jaws With teeth like saws being planted. And dideldumdei and schnedderedeng! There seems no end to the dances; The sharks grow impatient, and bite themselves In the tail with their teeth like lances. I presume that for music they’ve got no taste, Like many an ignoramus; Trust not the beast that music loves not, Says Albion’s poet famous. And schnedderedeng and dideldumdei! Not one of the dancers seems lazy; At the foremast stands Mynher Van Koek, And with folded hands thus prays he: “For Christ’s dear sake, O spare, good Lord, “The lives of these swarthy sinners; “If they’ve anger’d thee e’er, thou know’st they’re as dull “As the beasts that we eat for our dinners. “O spare their lives, for Christ’s dear sake, “Who died for our salvation; “For unless I have left me three hundred head, “There’s an end to my occupation.”