That when we told this to Alit, my wife,

She at the notion perk’d up with delight,

And said she believed the people were right.

“Had not Roprecht put in the Saints his hope,

And who but they should have loosen’d the rope,

When they saw that no one could intend

To make at the gallows a better end?

“Yes, she said, it was perfectly clear

That there must have been a miracle here;

And we had the happiness to be in it,

Having been brought there just at the minute.

“And therefore it would become us to make

An offering for this favor’s sake

To the Three Kings and the Virgins too,

Since we could not tell to which it was due.

“For greater honor there could be none

Than what in this business the Saints had done

To us and Piet Pieterszoon, our son;

She talk’d me over, Father Kijf,

With that tongue of hers, did Alit, my wife.

“Lord, forgive us! as if the Saints would deign

To come and help such a rogue in grain;

When the only mercy the case could admit

Would have been to make his halter fit!

“That would have made one hanging do,

In happy season for him too,

When he was in a proper cue;

And have saved some work, as you will see,

To my son, Piet Pieterszoon, and me.

“Well, Father, we kept him at bed and board,

Till his neck was cured and his strength restored,

And we should have sent him off this day

With something to help him on his way.

“But this wicked Roprecht, what did he?

Though he had been saved thus mercifully,

Hanging had done him so little good,

That he took to his old ways as soon as he could.

“Last night, when we were all asleep,

Out of his bed did this gallows-bird creep;

Piet Pieterszoon’s boots and spurs he put on,

And stole my best horse, and away he was gone!

“Now Alit, my wife, did not sleep so hard,

But she heard the horse’s feet in the yard;

And when she jogg’d me, and bade me awake,

My mind misgave me as soon as she spake.

“To the window my good woman went,

And watch’d which way his course he bent;

And in such time as a pipe can be lit,

Our horses were ready with bridle and bit.

“Away, as fast as we could hie,

We went, Piet Pieterszoon and I;

And still on the plain we had him in sight;

The moon did not shine for nothing that night.

“Knowing the ground, and riding fast,

We came up with him at last,

And — would you believe it? Father Kijf,

The ungrateful wretch would have taken my life,

If he had not miss’d his stroke with a knife!

“The struggle in no long time was done,

Because, you know, we were two to one;

But yet all our strength we were fain to try,

Piet Pieterszoon, my son, and I.

“When we had got him on the ground,

We fastened his hands, and his legs we bound;

And across the horse we laid him then,

And brought him back to the house again.

“We have robb’d the gallows, and that was ill done!”

Said I to Piet Pieterszoon, my son;

“And restitution we must make

To that same gallows, for justice’ sake”.

“In his suit of irons the rogue we array’d,

And once again in the cart he was laid!

Night not yet so far was spent,

But there was time enough for our intent;

And back to the triple tree we went.

“His own rope was ready there;

To measure the length we took good care;

And the job which the bungling Hangman begun,

This time, I think, was properly done

By me and Piet Pieterszoon, my son”.

Poems On The Slave Trade

1

Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain

Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?

For ever must your Nigers tainted flood

Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain?

Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear

The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore

Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,

With laurels water’d by the widow’s tear

Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!