Introduction

One hour for distant homes to weep
Midst Afric’s burnings sands,
One silent sunset hour was given
To the slaves of many lands.

They sat beneath a lonely palm,
In the gardens of their lord;
And, mingling with the fountain’s tune,
Their songs of exile pour’d.

And strangely, sadly did those lays
Of Alp and ocean sound,
With Afric’s wild, red skies above,
And solemn wastes around.

Broken with tears were oft their tones,
And most when most they tried
To breathe of hope and liberty,
From hearts that inly died.

So met the sons of many lands,
Parted by mount and main;
So did they sing in brotherhood,
Made kindred by the chain.