A Young Slave.—Praise sing thou to a maid’s fair form and eye.
Another.—Ring the bells of jest.
An Old Man.—Disclose the deeds of ages long gone by.
The Bard.—Other themes by far to-day resound through my unhappy soul,
Like the roar and rumble of the storms that o’er the heavens roll.
Far from these are flowery adornment, girlish grace, and heroes’ pride:
Sighs, groans, gnash of teeth and clash of chains now in my themes abide.
Slaves.—Clash of chains is but a common strain to us, yet play and sing;
Subdue thy voice, lest our sleeping lords and guard the whip to you bring.