“And now he waves his chain, now clasps his bleeding hands.
XVIII.
“Why, cruel WHITE MAN! when away
“My sable Love was torn,
“Why did you let poor Zelma stay,
“On Afric’s sands to mourn?
“No! Zelma is not left, for she will prove
“In the deep troubled main, her fond—her faithful Love.”
XIX.
The lab’ring Ship was now a wreck,