Bowing Her Head.

Her head is bowed downwards; so pensive her air, As she looks on the ground with her pale, solemn face, It were hard to decide whether faith or despair, Whether anguish or trust, in her heart holds a place.

Her hair was all gold in the sun's joyous light, Her brow was as smooth as the soft, placid sea: But the furrows of care came with shadows of night, And the gold silvered pale when the light left the lea.

Her lips slightly parted, deep thought in her eye, While sorrow cuts seams in her forehead so fair; Her bosom heaves gently, she stifles a sigh, And just moistens her lid with the dews of a tear.

Why droops she thus earthward--why bends she? Oh, see! There are gyves on her limbs! see her manacled hand! She is loaded with chains; but her spirit is free-- Free to love and to mourn for her desolate land.

Her jailer, though cunning, lacks wit to devise How to fetter her thoughts, as her limbs he has done; The eagle that's snatched from his flight to the skies, From the bars of his cage may still gaze at the sun.

No sound does she utter; all voiceless her pains; The wounds of her spirit with pride she conceals; She is dumb to her shearers; the clank of her chains And the throbs of her heart only tell what she feels.

She looks sadly around her; now sombre the scene! How thick the deep shadows that darken her view! The black embers of homes where the earth was so green, And the smokes of her wreck where the heavens shone blue.

Her daughters bereaved of all succor but God, Her bravest sons perished--the light of her eyes; But oppression's sharp heel does not cut 'neath the sod, And she knows that the chains cannot bind in the skies.

She thinks of the vessel she aided to build, Of all argosies richest that floated the seas; Compacted so strong, framed by architects skilled, Or to dare the wild storm, or to sail to the breeze.

The balmiest winds blowing soft where she steers, The favor of heaven illuming her path-- She might sail as she pleased to the mild summer airs, And avoid the dread regions of tempest and wrath.

But the crew quarrelled soon o'er the cargo she bore; 'Twas adjusted unfairly, the cavillers said; And the anger of men marred the peace that of yore Spread a broad path of glory and sunshine ahead.

There were seams in her planks--there were spots on her flag-- So the fanatics said, as they seized on her helm; And from soft summer seas, turned her prow where the crag And the wild breakers rose the good ship to overwhelm.

Then the South, though true love to the vessel she bore, Since she first laid its keel in the days that were gone-- Saw it plunge madly on to the wild billows' roar, And rush to destruction and ruin forlorn.

So she passed from the decks, in the faith of her heart That justice and God her protectors would be; Not dashed like a frail, fragile spar, without chart, In the fury and foam of the wild raging sea.

The life-boat that hung by the stout vessel's side She seized, and embarked on the wide, trackless main, In the faith that she'd reach, making virtue her guide, The haven the mother-ship failed to attain

But the crew rose in wrath, and they swore by their might They would sink the brave boat that did buffet the sea, For daring to seek, by her honor and right, A new port from the storms, a new home for the free.

So they crushed the brave boat; all forbearance they lost; They littered with ruins the ocean so wild-- Till the hulk of the parent ship, beaten and tossed, Drifted prone on the flood by the wreck of the child.

And the bold rower, loaded with fetters and chains, In the gloom of her heart sings the proud vessel's dirge; Half forgets, in its wreck, all the pangs of her pains, As she sees its stout parts floating loose in the surge.

Savannah Broadside.