I.
Haughty thought be far from me;Tones of penitence and pain,Moanings of the tropic sea;Low and tender in the cellWhere a captive sits in chains,Crooning ditties treasured wellFrom his Afric’s torrid plains.Sole estate his sire bequeathed–Hapless sire to hapless son–Was the wailing song he breathed,And his chain when life was done.What his fault, or what his…