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 NOTES AND TEBTIMONTES.

With tearful glance in either face,
The secret of its fear to trace.

"Ha,-stand or die I" The white man's eye
 His steady musket gleamed along,
As a tall negro hastened nigh,
 With fearless step and strong.
" What, ho, Toussaint I" A moment more,
His shadow crossed the lighted floor.
" Away," he shouted; fly with me;
The white man's bark is on the sea;
Her sails must catch the seaward wind,
For sudden vengeance sweeps behind.
Our brethren from their graves have spoken,
The yoke is spurned, the rhain is broken;
On all thie hill- our tires are gluoing,
Through all the vales red bl.>vx is flowing I
No more the mocking White shall rest
H; foIot upon the Negro's breast;
No more, at morn or ere, shall drip
The warm blood from the driver's whip;
Yet, though Toustaint has vengeance sworn,
For all the wrongs his race have borne,-
Though for ea'h drop of Negro blood
The white man's veins shall pour a flood;
Not all alone the sense of ill
Around his heart is lingering still,
Nor deeper can the white man feel
The generous warmth or grateful zeal.
Friends of the Negro! fly with me,-
The path i5 open to the sea;
" Away I.r liti-!" Ie spoke, and pressed
The young child to his manly breast,
As, headlong, through the crackling cane,
Down swept the dark insurgent train,-


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