“Father dear, art thou near? Then listen without fear; We came not to reprove, But erring steps to soothe.
“Italy, dear land of our birth, Though exiled, the choicest of earth, Truly, thou wast cherished for love, With only one object above.
“But alas, how frail was my stay! Beguiled by a wanton away, These pledges of love now remain, To haunt me with loss, and the stain.
“To save, I have sought every trace, A pilgrim to this distant place, Hopeless, I have come in despair, And now forlorn, breathe the last prayer.”
When the refrain had been repeated for the fourth time without response, or sign of recognition, the mother sank back on her seat; the harp following, with its weight would have forced her backward into the water, but for the timely arrest of the padrone. In a moment her neck was encircled with the arms of her children, who bestowed, unabashed by the curious presence of the assemblage, the spontaneous promptings of their affection, in solace for the encouragement of hope. Never, in the course of a life devoted to auramental association with the Giga race, had I ever witnessed an influence that so quickly dispersed varied evidences of brutality in human expression, as from these manifestations of suffering in alliance with innocence, affection, and beauty, hallowed in preluded expression of emotions by instrumental and vocal music. The repulsive sensuality, so brutally prominent in the slave captain’s and their “owner’s” visages, which exceeded in the loathsome vulgarity of selfishness the hyena’s, gave place to the shadowy reflection of sympathetic pity, as if from the impression of a reality retrieved from the dim memories of childhood. In default of tears, to the moisture of which their eyes had long been dead, they relieved their pockets of the last representative coins of sympathy, for bestowal “in charity” upon these wandering minstrels, who had recalled a flitting reminiscence of a mother’s memory, which once entitled them to an alliance with affectionate humanity. In contrast, the black faces of the negroes glistened with moisture from eyes still open to the founts of primitive sympathy; those acting as boatmen collecting the coins with scrupulous honesty, deposited them in the sachels of the children.