No Longer Yours:
Aspects of Slavery and Freedom Seeking in North Carolina

The Fugitive's Wife

Media

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Version 3

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titledcterms:titleThe Fugitive's Wife
descriptiondcterms:descriptionIt was my sad and weary lot To toil in slavery; But one thing cheered my lowly cot — My husband was with me. One evening, as our children played Around our cabin door, I noticed on his brow a shade I'd never seen before; And in his eyes a gloomy night Of anguish and despair; — I gazed upon their troubled light, To read the meaning there. He strained me to his heaving heart — My own beat wild with fear; I knew not, but I sadly felt There might be evil near. He vainly strove to cast aside The tears that fell like rain: — Too frail, indeed, is manly pride, To strive with grief and pain. Again he clasped me to his breast, And said that we must part: I tried to speak — but, oh! it seemed An arrow reached my heart. " Bear not, " I cried, " unto your grave, The yoke you've borne from birth; No longer live a helpless slave, The meanest thing on earth! "
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sourcedcterms:sourceFrom Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects (Merrihew & Thompson, 1857) by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper. This poem is in the public domain.

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