Runaway Slave

The runaway slave came to my house and
stopped outside,

I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the
wood-pile,

Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw
him limpsy and weak,

And went where he sat on a log, and led him in
and assured him,

And brought water and filled a tub for his sweated
body and bruised feet,

And gave him a room that entered from my own,
and gave him some coarse clean clothes,

And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes
and his awkwardness,

And remember putting plasters on the galls of his
neck and ankles;

He staid with me a week before he was recuper-
ated and passed north,

I had him sit next me at table—my fire-lock
leaned in the corner.