The Slaver in the broad lagoon
Lay moored with idle sail;
He waited for the rising moon
And for the evening gale
Under the shore his boat was tied
And all her listless crew
Watched the gray alligator slide
Into the still bayou
Odors of orange-flowers, and spice
Reached them from time to time
Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime
The Planter, under his roof of thatch
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch
He seemed in haste to go
He said, "My ship at anchor rides
In yonder broad lagoon;
I only wait the evening tides
And the rising of the moon."
Before them, with her face upraised
In timid attitude
Like one half curious, half amazed
A Quadroon maiden stood
Lay moored with idle sail;
He waited for the rising moon
And for the evening gale
Under the shore his boat was tied
And all her listless crew
Watched the gray alligator slide
Into the still bayou
Odors of orange-flowers, and spice
Reached them from time to time
Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime
The Planter, under his roof of thatch
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch
He seemed in haste to go
He said, "My ship at anchor rides
In yonder broad lagoon;
I only wait the evening tides
And the rising of the moon."
Before them, with her face upraised
In timid attitude
Like one half curious, half amazed
A Quadroon maiden stood
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