1825                                  
                               THE AFRICAN CHIEF                            
                                                                            
                            by William Cullen Bryant                        
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
            
                                                                            
                              THE AFRICAN CHIEF                             
                                                                            
  The story of the African Chief, related in this ballad, may be found      
in the African Repository for April 1825. The subject of it was a           
warrior of majestic stature, the brother of Yarradee, king of the           
Solima nation. He had been taken in battle, and was brought in              
chains for sale to the Rio Pongas, where he was exhibited in the            
market-place, his ankles still adorned with the massy rings of gold         
which he wore when captured. The refusal of his captor to listen to         
his offers of ransom drove him mad, and he died a maniac.                   
                                                                            
         Chained in the market-place he stood,                              
           A man of giant frame,                                            
         Amid the gathering multitude                                       
           That shrunk to hear his name-                                    
         All stern of look and strong of limb,                              
           His dark eye on the ground:-                                     
         And silently they gazed on him,                                    
           As on a lion bound.                                              
                                                                            
         Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,                           
           He was a captive now,                                            
         Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,                               
           Was written on his brow.                                         
         The scars his dark broad bosom wore                                
           Showed warrior true and brave;                                   
         A prince among his tribe before,                                   
           He could not be a slave.                                         
                                                                            
         Then to his conqueror he spake-                                    
           "My brother is a king;                                           
         Undo this necklace from my neck,                                   
           And take this bracelet ring,                                     
         And send me where my brother reigns,                               
           And I will fill thy hands                                        
         With store of ivory from the plains,                               
           And gold-dust from the sands."                                   
                                                                            
         "Not for thy ivory nor thy gold                                    
           Will I unbind thy chain;                                         
         That bloody hand shall never hold                                  
           The battle-spear again.                                          
         A price thy nation never gave,                                     
           Shall yet be paid for thee;                                      
         For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,                           
           In lands beyond the sea."                                        
                                                                            
         Then wept the warrior chief, and bade                              
           To shred his locks away;                                         
         And, one by one, each heavy braid                                  
           Before the victor lay.                                           
         Thick were the platted locks, and long,                            
           And deftly hidden there                                          
         Shone many a wedge of gold among                                   
           The dark and crisped hair.                                       
                                                                            
         "Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold                              
           Long kept for sorest need;                                       
         Take it- thou askest sums untold,                                  
           And say that I am freed.                                         
         Take it- my wife, the long, long day,                              
           Weeps by the cocoa-tree,                                         
         And my young children leave their play,                            
           And ask in vain for me."                                         
                                                                            
         "I take thy gold- but I have made                                  
           Thy fetters fast and strong,                                     
         And ween that by the cocoa shade                                   
           Thy wife will wait thee long."                                   
         Strong was the agony that shook                                    
           The captive's frame to hear,                                     
         And the proud meaning of his look                                  
           Was changed to mortal fear.                                      
                                                                            
         His heart was broken- crazed his brain:                            
           At once his eye grew wild;                                       
         He struggled fiercely with his chain,                              
           Whispered, and wept, and smiled;                                 
         Yet wore not long those fatal bands,                               
           And once, at shut of day,                                        
         They drew him forth upon the sands,                                
           The foul hyena's prey.                                           
                                                                            
                                                                            
                        THE END