The Ballad Of Nat Turner

Then fled, O brethren, the wicked juba

      and wandered wandered far

from curfew joys in the Dismal’s night.

      Fool of St. Elmo’s fire

In scary night I wandered, praying,

      Lord God my harshener,

speak to me now or let me die;

      speak, Lord, to this mourner.

And came at length to livid trees

      where Ibo warriors

hung shadowless, turning in wind

      that moaned like Africa,

Their belltongue bodies dead, their eyes

      alive with the anger deep

in my own heart. Is this the sign,

      the sign forepromised me?

The spirits vanished. Afraid and lonely

      I wandered on in blackness.

Speak to me now or let me die.

      Die, whispered the blackness.

And wild things gasped and scuffled in

      the night; seething shapes

of evil frolicked upon the air.

      I reeled with fear, I prayed.

Sudden brightness clove the preying

      darkness, brightness that was

itself a golden darkness, brightness

      so bright that it was darkness.

And there were angels, their faces hidden

      from me, angels at war

with one another, angels in dazzling

      combat. And oh the splendor,

The fearful splendor of that warring.

      Hide me, I cried to rock and bramble.

Hide me, the rock, the bramble cried. . . .

      How tell you of that holy battle?

The shock of wing on wing and sword

      on sword was the tumult of

a taken city burning. I cannot

      say how long they strove,

For the wheel in a turning wheel which is time

      in eternity had ceased

its whirling, and owl and moccasin,

      panther and nameless beast

And I were held like creatures fixed

      in flaming, in fiery amber.

But I saw I saw oh many of

      those mighty beings waver,

Waver and fall, go streaking down

      into swamp water, and the water

hissed and steamed and bubbled and locked

      shuddering shuddering over

The fallen and soon was motionless.

      Then that massive light

began a-folding slowly in

      upon itself, and I

Beheld the conqueror faces and, lo,

      they were like mine, I saw

they were like mine and in joy and terror

      wept, praising praising Jehovah.

Oh praised my honer, harshener

      till a sleep came over me,

a sleep heavy as death. And when

      I awoke at last free

And purified, I rose and prayed

      and returned after a time

to the blazing fields, to the humbleness.

      And bided my time.