Classic Poem

How say that by law me may torture and chase
A woman whose crime is the hue of her face?--
With her step on the ice, and her arm on her child,
The danger was fearful, the pathway was wild . . .
But she's free! yes, free from the land where the slave,
From the hand of oppression, must rest in the grave;
Where bondage and blood, where scourges and chains,
Have placed on our banner indelible stains . . .
The bloodhounds have miss'd the scent of her way,
The hunter is rifled and foiled of his prey,
The cursing of men and clanking of chains
Make sounds of strange discord on Liberty's plains . . .
Oh! poverty, danger and death she can brave,
For the child of her love is no longer a slave.