THE SLAVER.
The good ship's captain, stout Mynheer Van Kock,
Is seated in his cabin, occupied
In making up his balance-sheet account.
He calculates the cargo's price with care,
And then the profits likely to accrue.
'The gum is good, the pepper better still;
I have three hundred sacks,—and let me see,
Three hundred barrels nicely stowed below.
I have too gold-dust, and rare ivory,
But the merchandise of blacks for slavery
Is what is worth the most, ta'en all in all.
I have six hundred negroes I acquired
By fair exchange,—that is, for almost nought
In verity—on Senegal's wild coast.
The flesh is firm, the nerves are tough and strong
As bowstrings strained: a looker-on may say,
Statues my figures are, of moulded bronze.
Brandy and gin in barter I have given,
And beads of glass that look like precious pearls,
And instruments of steel as bright as sharp.
Eight hundred for each hundred shall I gain
If but the half alone remain alive.
Yes, if there rest for me three hundred souls
In Rio Janeiro's port, the well-known firm,
