Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth: The Slave's Dream

Beside the ungathered rice he lay,
His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams
The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain
Once more a king he strode;
And heard the tinkling caravans
Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,
They held him by the hand!--
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel
Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,
The bright flamingoes flew;
>From morn till night he followed their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,
And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!

S kosákom v ruke ryžovú
na roľu klesol už,
hruď nahá zdýma, bujný vlas
mu čneje v piesku súš.
Tak v snoch zas vidí ďalekú
vlasť zotročený muž.

Cez pláne snov sa berie v diaľ,
hľa, černoch-pohlavár,
mu v chlade paliem slobodou
kráľovskou svieti tvár.
I čuje cvengot karaván,
jak tiahnu z hôrnych čiar.

Zrie kráľovnú, jej čierny zrak
nad hlúčkom dietok bdie,
v objeme ľúba jeho skráň,
kým dlaň sa v dlani chvie.
V sne viečka vlhnú slzami
a jas ich v hrudách stlie.

Pobrežím rieky jazdí zas
víchricou na koni,
sa kantár zlatom jagoce;
v cval keď sa jazdec nakloní,
pri každom skoku boja hrou
mu šabľa zazvoní.

Plameniak letí, krvavou
sťa zástavou by vial,
on stíha zver, švih skvúcich pier,
cez tamarindov val,
večera tieň kým ľahne len
na mora modrú diaľ.

Rev leva čuje nocou zas
a vytie hyen tiež,
i hrocha vidí, močiarom
jak sliedi, v očiach striež,
kým hukot bubnov slávou vrie,
víťazstvom zvučí spiež.

Nesmierny hlahol pralesov
slobody peje spev,
v tmách púšte voľný vietor hrá,
ku piesňam ladí krev.
Slad úsmevu kol jeho rtov
hrá zas jak hrával driev.

Necíti otrokára bič,
ni horko, bremä dňov,
smrť ožiarila ríšu krás
preblahých, veľkých snov.
Len trup tu leží troskami
rozbitých okovov.