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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9576.txt b/9576.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eac216b --- /dev/null +++ b/9576.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2510 @@ + +Project Gutenberg EBook, Anti-Slavery Poems II. by Whittier +Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform +#21 in our series by John Greenleaf Whittier + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: Anti-Slavery Poems II. + From Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery + Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9576] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 15, 2003] + + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS II. *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS + + SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM + + + BY + + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + +CONTENTS: + +TEXAS + VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND + TO FANEUIL HALL + TO MASSACHUSETTS + NEW HAMPSHIRE + THE PINE-TREE +TO A SOUTHERN STATESMAN +AT WASHINGTON +THE BRANDED HAND +THE FREED ISLANDS +A LETTER +LINES FROM A LETTER TO A YOUNG CLERICAL FRIEND +DANIEL NEALL +SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT +To DELAWARE +YORKTOWN +RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE +THE LOST STATESMAN +THE SLAVES OF MARTINIQUE +THE CURSE OF THE CHARTER-BREAKERS +PAEAN +THE CRISIS +LINES ON THE PORTRAIT OF A CELEBRATED PUBLISHER + + + + + +TEXAS + +VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND. + +The five poems immediately following indicate the intense feeling of the +friends of freedom in view of the annexation of Texas, with its vast +territory sufficient, as was boasted, for six new slave States. + +Up the hillside, down the glen, +Rouse the sleeping citizen; +Summon out the might of men! + +Like a lion growling low, +Like a night-storm rising slow, +Like the tread of unseen foe; + +It is coming, it is nigh! +Stand your homes and altars by; +On your own free thresholds die. + +Clang the bells in all your spires; +On the gray hills of your sires +Fling to heaven your signal-fires. + +From Wachuset, lone and bleak, +Unto Berkshire's tallest peak, +Let the flame-tongued heralds speak. + +Oh, for God and duty stand, +Heart to heart and hand to hand, +Round the old graves of the land. + +Whoso shrinks or falters now, +Whoso to the yoke would bow, +Brand the craven on his brow! + +Freedom's soil hath only place +For a free and fearless race, +None for traitors false and base. + +Perish party, perish clan; +Strike together while ye can, +Like the arm of one strong man. + +Like that angel's voice sublime, +Heard above a world of crime, +Crying of the end of time; + +With one heart and with one mouth, +Let the North unto the South +Speak the word befitting both. + +"What though Issachar be strong +Ye may load his back with wrong +Overmuch and over long: + +"Patience with her cup o'errun, +With her weary thread outspun, +Murmurs that her work is done. + +"Make our Union-bond a chain, +Weak as tow in Freedom's strain +Link by link shall snap in twain. + +"Vainly shall your sand-wrought rope +Bind the starry cluster up, +Shattered over heaven's blue cope! + +"Give us bright though broken rays, +Rather than eternal haze, +Clouding o'er the full-orbed blaze. + +"Take your land of sun and bloom; +Only leave to Freedom room +For her plough, and forge, and loom; + +"Take your slavery-blackened vales; +Leave us but our own free gales, +Blowing on our thousand sails. + +"Boldly, or with treacherous art, +Strike the blood-wrought chain apart; +Break the Union's mighty heart; + +"Work the ruin, if ye will; +Pluck upon your heads an ill +Which shall grow and deepen still. + +"With your bondman's right arm bare, +With his heart of black despair, +Stand alone, if stand ye dare! + +"Onward with your fell design; +Dig the gulf and draw the line +Fire beneath your feet the mine! + +"Deeply, when the wide abyss +Yawns between your land and this, +Shall ye feel your helplessness. + +"By the hearth, and in the bed, +Shaken by a look or tread, +Ye shall own a guilty dread. + +"And the curse of unpaid toil, +Downward through your generous soil +Like a fire shall burn and spoil. + +"Our bleak hills shall bud and blow, +Vines our rocks shall overgrow, +Plenty in our valleys flow;-- + +"And when vengeance clouds your skies, +Hither shall ye turn your eyes, +As the lost on Paradise! + +"We but ask our rocky strand, +Freedom's true and brother band, +Freedom's strong and honest hand; + +"Valleys by the slave untrod, +And the Pilgrim's mountain sod, +Blessed of our fathers' God!" +1844. + + + + +TO FANEUIL HALL. + +Written in 1844, on reading a call by "a Massachusetts Freeman" for a +meeting in Faneuil Hall of the citizens of Massachusetts, without +distinction of party, opposed to the annexation of Texas, and the +aggressions of South Carolina, and in favor of decisive action against +slavery. + +MEN! if manhood still ye claim, +If the Northern pulse can thrill, +Roused by wrong or stung by shame, +Freely, strongly still; +Let the sounds of traffic die +Shut the mill-gate, leave the stall, +Fling the axe and hammer by; +Throng to Faneuil Hall! + +Wrongs which freemen never brooked, +Dangers grim and fierce as they, +Which, like couching lions, looked +On your fathers' way; +These your instant zeal demand, +Shaking with their earthquake-call +Every rood of Pilgrim land, +Ho, to Faneuil Hall! + +From your capes and sandy bars, +From your mountain-ridges cold, +Through whose pines the westering stars +Stoop their crowns of gold; +Come, and with your footsteps wake +Echoes from that holy wall; +Once again, for Freedom's sake, +Rock your fathers' hall! + +Up, and tread beneath your feet +Every cord by party spun: +Let your hearts together beat +As the heart of one. +Banks and tariffs, stocks and trade, +Let them rise or let them fall: +Freedom asks your common aid,-- +Up, to Faneuil Hall! + +Up, and let each voice that speaks +Ring from thence to Southern plains, +Sharply as the blow which breaks +Prison-bolts and chains! +Speak as well becomes the free +Dreaded more than steel or ball, +Shall your calmest utterance be, +Heard from Faneuil Hall! + +Have they wronged us? Let us then +Render back nor threats nor prayers; +Have they chained our free-born men? +Let us unchain theirs! +Up, your banner leads the van, +Blazoned, "Liberty for all!" + +Finish what your sires began! +Up, to Faneuil Hall! + + + + +TO MASSACHUSETTS. + +WHAT though around thee blazes +No fiery rallying sign? +From all thy own high places, +Give heaven the light of thine! +What though unthrilled, unmoving, +The statesman stand apart, +And comes no warm approving +From Mammon's crowded mart? + +Still, let the land be shaken +By a summons of thine own! +By all save truth forsaken, +Stand fast with that alone! +Shrink not from strife unequal! +With the best is always hope; +And ever in the sequel +God holds the right side up! + +But when, with thine uniting, +Come voices long and loud, +And far-off hills are writing +Thy fire-words on the cloud; +When from Penobscot's fountains +A deep response is heard, +And across the Western mountains +Rolls back thy rallying word; + +Shall thy line of battle falter, +With its allies just in view? +Oh, by hearth and holy altar, +My fatherland, be true! +Fling abroad thy scrolls of Freedom +Speed them onward far and fast +Over hill and valley speed them, +Like the sibyl's on the blast! + +Lo! the Empire State is shaking +The shackles from her hand; +With the rugged North is waking +The level sunset land! +On they come, the free battalions +East and West and North they come, +And the heart-beat of the millions +Is the beat of Freedom's drum. + +"To the tyrant's plot no favor +No heed to place-fed knaves! +Bar and bolt the door forever +Against the land of slaves!" +Hear it, mother Earth, and hear it, +The heavens above us spread! +The land is roused,--its spirit +Was sleeping, but not dead! +1844. + + + + +NEW HAMPSHIRE. + +GOD bless New Hampshire! from her granite peaks +Once more the voice of Stark and Langdon speaks. +The long-bound vassal of the exulting South +For very shame her self-forged chain has broken; +Torn the black seal of slavery from her mouth, +And in the clear tones of her old time spoken! +Oh, all undreamed-of, all unhoped-for changes +The tyrant's ally proves his sternest foe; +To all his biddings, from her mountain ranges, +New Hampshire thunders an indignant No! +Who is it now despairs? Oh, faint of heart, +Look upward to those Northern mountains cold, +Flouted by Freedom's victor-flag unrolled, +And gather strength to bear a manlier part +All is not lost. The angel of God's blessing +Encamps with Freedom on the field of fight; +Still to her banner, day by day, are pressing, +Unlooked-for allies, striking for the right +Courage, then, Northern hearts! Be firm, be true: +What one brave State hath done, can ye not also do? +1845. + + + + +THE PINE-TREE. + +Written on hearing that the Anti-Slavery Resolves of Stephen C. Phillips +had been rejected by the Whig Convention in Faneuil Hall, in 1846. + +LIFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's +rusted shield, +Give to Northern winds the Pine-Tree on our banner's +tattered field. +Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles +round the board, +Answering England's royal missive with a firm, +"Thus saith the Lord!" +Rise again for home and freedom! set the battle +in array! +What the fathers did of old time we their sons +must do to-day. + +Tell us not of banks and tariffs, cease your paltry +pedler cries; +Shall the good State sink her honor that your +gambling stocks may rise? +Would ye barter man for cotton? That your +gains may sum up higher, +Must we kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children +through the fire? +Is the dollar only real? God and truth and right +a dream? +Weighed against your lying ledgers must our manhood +kick the beam? + +O my God! for that free spirit, which of old in +Boston town +Smote the Province House with terror, struck the +crest of Andros down! +For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's +streets to cry, +"Up for God and Massachusetts! Set your feet +on Mammon's lie! +Perish banks and perish traffic, spin your cotton's +latest pound, +But in Heaven's name keep your honor, keep the +heart o' the Bay State sound!" +Where's the man for Massachusetts! Where's +the voice to speak her free? +Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her +mountains to the sea? +Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer? Sits she dumb +in her despair? +Has she none to break the silence? Has she none +to do and dare? +O my God! for one right worthy to lift up her +rusted shield, +And to plant again the Pine-Tree in her banner's +tattered field +1840. + + + + +TO A SOUTHERN STATESMAN. + +John C. Calhoun, who had strongly urged the extension of slave territory +by the annexation of Texas, even if it should involve a war with +England, was unwilling to promote the acquisition of Oregon, which would +enlarge the Northern domain of freedom, and pleaded as an excuse the +peril of foreign complications which he had defied when the interests +of slavery were involved. + +Is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear +Wail in the wind? And dost thou shake to hear, +Actieon-like, the bay of thine own hounds, +Spurning the leash, and leaping o'er their bounds? +Sore-baffled statesman! when thy eager hand, +With game afoot, unslipped the hungry pack, +To hunt down Freedom in her chosen land, +Hadst thou no fear, that, erelong, doubling back, +These dogs of thine might snuff on Slavery's track? +Where's now the boast, which even thy guarded tongue, +Cold, calm, and proud, in the teeth o' the Senate flung, + +O'er the fulfilment of thy baleful plan, +Like Satan's triumph at the fall of man? +How stood'st thou then, thy feet on Freedom planting, +And pointing to the lurid heaven afar, +Whence all could see, through the south windows slanting, +Crimson as blood, the beams of that Lone Star! +The Fates are just; they give us but our own; +Nemesis ripens what our hands have sown. +There is an Eastern story, not unknown, +Doubtless, to thee, of one whose magic skill +Called demons up his water-jars to fill; +Deftly and silently, they did his will, +But, when the task was done, kept pouring still. +In vain with spell and charm the wizard wrought, +Faster and faster were the buckets brought, +Higher and higher rose the flood around, +Till the fiends clapped their hands above their master drowned +So, Carolinian, it may prove with thee, +For God still overrules man's schemes, and takes +Craftiness in its self-set snare, and makes +The wrath of man to praise Him. It may be, +That the roused spirits of Democracy +May leave to freer States the same wide door +Through which thy slave-cursed Texas entered in, +From out the blood and fire, the wrong and sin, +Of the stormed-city and the ghastly plain, +Beat by hot hail, and wet with bloody rain, +The myriad-handed pioneer may pour, +And the wild West with the roused North combine +And heave the engineer of evil with his mine. +1846. + + + + +AT WASHINGTON. +Suggested by a visit to the city of Washington, in the 12th month of +1845. + +WITH a cold and wintry noon-light +On its roofs and steeples shed, +Shadows weaving with the sunlight +From the gray sky overhead, +Broadly, vaguely, all around me, lies the half-built +town outspread. + +Through this broad street, restless ever, +Ebbs and flows a human tide, +Wave on wave a living river; +Wealth and fashion side by side; +Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick +current glide. + +Underneath yon dome, whose coping +Springs above them, vast and tall, +Grave men in the dust are groping +For the largess, base and small, +Which the hand of Power is scattering, crumbs +which from its table fall. + +Base of heart! They vilely barter +Honor's wealth for party's place; +Step by step on Freedom's charter +Leaving footprints of disgrace; +For to-day's poor pittance turning from the great +hope of their race. + +Yet, where festal lamps are throwing +Glory round the dancer's hair, +Gold-tressed, like an angel's, flowing +Backward on the sunset air; +And the low quick pulse of music beats its measure +sweet and rare. + +There to-night shall woman's glances, +Star-like, welcome give to them; +Fawning fools with shy advances +Seek to touch their garments' hem, +With the tongue of flattery glozing deeds which +God and Truth condemn. + +From this glittering lie my vision +Takes a broader, sadder range, +Full before me have arisen +Other pictures dark and strange; +From the parlor to the prison must the scene and +witness change. + +Hark! the heavy gate is swinging +On its hinges, harsh and slow; +One pale prison lamp is flinging +On a fearful group below +Such a light as leaves to terror whatsoe'er it does +not show. + +Pitying God! Is that a woman +On whose wrist the shackles clash? +Is that shriek she utters human, +Underneath the stinging lash? +Are they men whose eyes of madness from that sad +procession flash? + +Still the dance goes gayly onward +What is it to Wealth and Pride +That without the stars are looking +On a scene which earth should hide? +That the slave-ship lies in waiting, rocking +on Potomac's tide! + +Vainly to that mean Ambition +Which, upon a rival's fall, +Winds above its old condition, +With a reptile's slimy crawl, +Shall the pleading voice of sorrow, shall the slave +in anguish call. + +Vainly to the child of Fashion, +Giving to ideal woe +Graceful luxury of compassion, +Shall the stricken mourner go; +Hateful seems the earnest sorrow, beautiful the +hollow show! + +Nay, my words are all too sweeping: +In this crowded human mart, +Feeling is not dead, but sleeping; +Man's strong will and woman's heart, +In the coming strife for Freedom, yet shall bear +their generous part. + +And from yonder sunny valleys, +Southward in the distance lost, +Freedom yet shall summon allies +Worthier than the North can boast, +With the Evil by their hearth-stones grappling at +severer cost. + +Now, the soul alone is willing +Faint the heart and weak the knee; +And as yet no lip is thrilling +With the mighty words, "Be Free!" +Tarrieth long the land's Good Angel, but his +advent is to be! + +Meanwhile, turning from the revel +To the prison-cell my sight, +For intenser hate of evil, +For a keener sense of right, +Shaking off thy dust, I thank thee, City of the +Slaves, to-night! + +"To thy duty now and ever! +Dream no more of rest or stay +Give to Freedom's great endeavor +All thou art and hast to-day:" +Thus, above the city's murmur, saith a Voice, or +seems to say. + +Ye with heart and vision gifted +To discern and love the right, + +Whose worn faces have been lifted +To the slowly-growing light, +Where from Freedom's sunrise drifted slowly +back the murk of night + +Ye who through long years of trial +Still have held your purpose fast, +While a lengthening shade the dial +from the westering sunshine cast, +And of hope each hour's denial seemed an echo of +the last! + +O my brothers! O my sisters +Would to God that ye were near, +Gazing with me down the vistas +Of a sorrow strange and drear; +Would to God that ye were listeners to the Voice +I seem to hear! + +With the storm above us driving, +With the false earth mined below, +Who shall marvel if thus striving +We have counted friend as foe; +Unto one another giving in the darkness blow for +blow. + +Well it may be that our natures +Have grown sterner and more hard, +And the freshness of their features +Somewhat harsh and battle-scarred, +And their harmonies of feeling overtasked and +rudely jarred. + +Be it so. It should not swerve us +From a purpose true and brave; +Dearer Freedom's rugged service +Than the pastime of the slave; +Better is the storm above it than the quiet of +the grave. + +Let us then, uniting, bury +All our idle feuds in dust, +And to future conflicts carry +Mutual faith and common trust; +Always he who most forgiveth in his brother is +most just. + +From the eternal shadow rounding +All our sun and starlight here, +Voices of our lost ones sounding +Bid us be of heart and cheer, +Through the silence, down the spaces, falling on +the inward ear. + +Know we not our dead are looking +Downward with a sad surprise, +All our strife of words rebuking +With their mild and loving eyes? +Shall we grieve the holy angels? Shall we cloud +their blessed skies? + +Let us draw their mantles o'er us +Which have fallen in our way; +Let us do the work before us, +Cheerly, bravely, while we may, +Ere the long night-silence cometh, and with us it is +not day! + + + + +THE BRANDED HAND. + +Captain Jonathan Walker, of Harwich, Mass., was solicited by several +fugitive slaves at Pensacola, Florida, to carry them in his vessel to +the British West Indies. Although well aware of the great hazard of the +enterprise he attempted to comply with the request, but was seized at +sea by an American vessel, consigned to the authorities at Key West, and +thence sent back to Pensacola, where, after a long and rigorous +confinement in prison, he was tried and sentenced to be branded on his +right hand with the letters "S.S." (slave-stealer) and amerced in a +heavy fine. + +WELCOME home again, brave seaman! with thy +thoughtful brow and gray, +And the old heroic spirit of our earlier, better day; +With that front of calm endurance, on whose +steady nerve in vain +Pressed the iron of the prison, smote the fiery +shafts of pain. + +Is the tyrant's brand upon thee? Did the brutal +cravens aim +To make God's truth thy falsehood, His holiest +work thy shame? +When, all blood-quenched, from the torture the +iron was withdrawn, +How laughed their evil angel the baffled fools to +scorn! + +They change to wrong the duty which God hath +written out +On the great heart of humanity, too legible for +doubt! +They, the loathsome moral lepers, blotched from +footsole up to crown, +Give to shame what God hath given unto honor +and renown! + +Why, that brand is highest honor! than its traces +never yet +Upon old armorial hatchments was a prouder blazon +set; +And thy unborn generations, as they tread our +rocky strand, +Shall tell with pride the story of their father's +branded hand! + +As the Templar home was welcome, bearing back- +from Syrian wars +The scars of Arab lances and of Paynim scimitars, +The pallor of the prison, and the shackle's crimson span, +So we meet thee, so we greet thee, truest friend of +God and man. + +He suffered for the ransom of the dear Redeemer's grave, +Thou for His living presence in the bound and +bleeding slave; +He for a soil no longer by the feet of angels trod, +Thou for the true Shechinah, the present home of God. + +For, while the jurist, sitting with the slave-whip +o'er him swung, +From the tortured truths of freedom the lie of +slavery wrung, +And the solemn priest to Moloch, on each God- +deserted shrine, +Broke the bondman's heart for bread, poured the +bondman's blood for wine; + +While the multitude in blindness to a far-off Saviour +knelt, +And spurned, the while, the temple where a present +Saviour dwelt; +Thou beheld'st Him in the task-field, in the prison +shadows dim, +And thy mercy to the bondman, it was mercy unto Him! + +In thy lone and long night-watches, sky above and +wave below, +Thou didst learn a higher wisdom than the babbling +schoolmen know; +God's stars and silence taught thee, as His angels +only can, +That the one sole sacred thing beneath the cope of +heaven is Man! + +That he who treads profanely on the scrolls of law +and creed, +In the depth of God's great goodness may find +mercy in his need; +But woe to him who crushes the soul with chain +and rod, +And herds with lower natures the awful form of God! + +Then lift that manly right-hand, bold ploughman +of the wave! +Its branded palm shall prophesy, "Salvation to +the Slave!" +Hold up its fire-wrought language, that whoso +reads may feel +His heart swell strong within him, his sinews +change to steel. + +Hold it up before our sunshine, up against our +Northern air; +Ho! men of Massachusetts, for the love of God, +look there! +Take it henceforth for your standard, like the +Bruce's heart of yore, +In the dark strife closing round ye, let that hand +be seen before! + +And the masters of the slave-land shall tremble at +that sign, +When it points its finger Southward along the +Puritan line +Can the craft of State avail them? Can a Christless +church withstand, +In the van of Freedom's onset, the coming of that +band? +1846. + + + + +THE FREED ISLANDS. +Written for the anniversary celebration of the first of August, +at Milton, 7846. + +A FEW brief years have passed away +Since Britain drove her million slaves +Beneath the tropic's fiery ray +God willed their freedom; and to-day +Life blooms above those island graves! + +He spoke! across the Carib Sea, +We heard the clash of breaking chains, +And felt the heart-throb of the free, +The first, strong pulse of liberty +Which thrilled along the bondman's veins. + +Though long delayed, and far, and slow, +The Briton's triumph shall be ours +Wears slavery here a prouder brow +Than that which twelve short years ago +Scowled darkly from her island bowers? + +Mighty alike for good or ill +With mother-land, we fully share +The Saxon strength, the nerve of steel, +The tireless energy of will, +The power to do, the pride to dare. + +What she has done can we not do? +Our hour and men are both at hand; +The blast which Freedom's angel blew +O'er her green islands, echoes through +Each valley of our forest land. + +Hear it, old Europe! we have sworn +The death of slavery. When it falls, +Look to your vassals in their turn, +Your poor dumb millions, crushed and worn, +Your prisons and your palace walls! + +O kingly mockers! scoffing show +What deeds in Freedom's name we do; +Yet know that every taunt ye throw +Across the waters, goads our slow +Progression towards the right and true. + +Not always shall your outraged poor, +Appalled by democratic crime, +Grind as their fathers ground before; +The hour which sees our prison door +Swing wide shall be their triumph time. + +On then, my brothers! every blow +Ye deal is felt the wide earth through; +Whatever here uplifts the low +Or humbles Freedom's hateful foe, +Blesses the Old World through the New. + +Take heart! The promised hour draws near; +I hear the downward beat of wings, +And Freedom's trumpet sounding clear +"Joy to the people! woe and fear +To new-world tyrants, old-world kings!" + + + + +A LETTER. + +Supposed to be written by the chairman of the "Central Clique" at +Concord, N. H., to the Hon. M. N., Jr., at Washington, giving the result +of the election. The following verses were published in the Boston +Chronotype in 1846. They refer to the contest in New Hampshire, which +resulted in the defeat of the pro-slavery Democracy, and in the election +of John P. Hale to the United States Senate. Although their authorship +was not acknowledged, it was strongly suspected. They furnish a specimen +of the way, on the whole rather good-natured, in which the +liberty-lovers of half a century ago answered the social and political +outlawry and mob violence to which they were subjected. + +'T is over, Moses! All is lost +I hear the bells a-ringing; +Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea host +I hear the Free-Wills singing [4] +We're routed, Moses, horse and foot, +If there be truth in figures, +With Federal Whigs in hot pursuit, +And Hale, and all the "niggers." + +Alack! alas! this month or more +We've felt a sad foreboding; +Our very dreams the burden bore +Of central cliques exploding; +Before our eyes a furnace shone, +Where heads of dough were roasting, +And one we took to be your own +The traitor Hale was toasting! + +Our Belknap brother [5] heard with awe +The Congo minstrels playing; +At Pittsfield Reuben Leavitt [6] saw +The ghost of Storrs a-praying; +And Calroll's woods were sad to see, +With black-winged crows a-darting; +And Black Snout looked on Ossipee, +New-glossed with Day and Martin. + +We thought the "Old Man of the Notch" +His face seemed changing wholly-- +His lips seemed thick; his nose seemed flat; +His misty hair looked woolly; +And Coos teamsters, shrieking, fled +From the metamorphosed figure. +"Look there!" they said, "the Old Stone Head +Himself is turning nigger!" + +The schoolhouse, out of Canaan hauled +Seemed turning on its track again, +And like a great swamp-turtle crawled +To Canaan village back again, +Shook off the mud and settled flat +Upon its underpinning; +A nigger on its ridge-pole sat, +From ear to ear a-grinning. + +Gray H----d heard o' nights the sound +Of rail-cars onward faring; +Right over Democratic ground +The iron horse came tearing. +A flag waved o'er that spectral train, +As high as Pittsfield steeple; +Its emblem was a broken chain; +Its motto: "To the people!" + +I dreamed that Charley took his bed, +With Hale for his physician; +His daily dose an old "unread +And unreferred" petition. [8] +There Hayes and Tuck as nurses sat, +As near as near could be, man; +They leeched him with the "Democrat;" +They blistered with the "Freeman." + +Ah! grisly portents! What avail +Your terrors of forewarning? +We wake to find the nightmare Hale +Astride our breasts at morning! +From Portsmouth lights to Indian stream +Our foes their throats are trying; +The very factory-spindles seem +To mock us while they're flying. + +The hills have bonfires; in our streets +Flags flout us in our faces; +The newsboys, peddling off their sheets, +Are hoarse with our disgraces. +In vain we turn, for gibing wit +And shoutings follow after, +As if old Kearsarge had split +His granite sides with laughter. + +What boots it that we pelted out +The anti-slavery women, [9] +And bravely strewed their hall about +With tattered lace and trimming? +Was it for such a sad reverse +Our mobs became peacemakers, +And kept their tar and wooden horse +For Englishmen and Quakers? + +For this did shifty Atherton +Make gag rules for the Great House? +Wiped we for this our feet upon +Petitions in our State House? +Plied we for this our axe of doom, +No stubborn traitor sparing, +Who scoffed at our opinion loom, +And took to homespun wearing? + +Ah, Moses! hard it is to scan +These crooked providences, +Deducing from the wisest plan +The saddest consequences! +Strange that, in trampling as was meet +The nigger-men's petition, +We sprang a mine beneath our feet +Which opened up perdition. + +How goodly, Moses, was the game +In which we've long been actors, +Supplying freedom with the name +And slavery with the practice +Our smooth words fed the people's mouth, +Their ears our party rattle; +We kept them headed to the South, +As drovers do their cattle. + +But now our game of politics +The world at large is learning; +And men grown gray in all our tricks +State's evidence are turning. +Votes and preambles subtly spun +They cram with meanings louder, +And load the Democratic gun +With abolition powder. + +The ides of June! Woe worth the day +When, turning all things over, +The traitor Hale shall make his hay +From Democratic clover! +Who then shall take him in the law, +Who punish crime so flagrant? +Whose hand shall serve, whose pen shall draw, +A writ against that "vagrant"? + +Alas! no hope is left us here, +And one can only pine for +The envied place of overseer +Of slaves in Carolina! +Pray, Moses, give Calhoun the wink, +And see what pay he's giving! +We've practised long enough, we think, +To know the art of driving. + +And for the faithful rank and file, +Who know their proper stations, +Perhaps it may be worth their while +To try the rice plantations. +Let Hale exult, let Wilson scoff, +To see us southward scamper; +The slaves, we know, are "better off +Than laborers in New Hampshire!" + + + + +LINES +FROM A LETTER TO A YOUNG CLERICAL FRIEND. + + +A STRENGTH Thy service cannot tire, +A faith which doubt can never dim, +A heart of love, a lip of fire, +O Freedom's God! be Thou to him! + +Speak through him words of power and fear, +As through Thy prophet bards of old, +And let a scornful people hear +Once more Thy Sinai-thunders rolled. + +For lying lips Thy blessing seek, +And hands of blood are raised to Thee, +And On Thy children, crushed and weak, +The oppressor plants his kneeling knee. + +Let then, O God! Thy servant dare +Thy truth in all its power to tell, +Unmask the priestly thieves, and tear +The Bible from the grasp of hell! + +From hollow rite and narrow span +Of law and sect by Thee released, +Oh, teach him that the Christian man +Is holier than the Jewish priest. + +Chase back the shadows, gray and old, +Of the dead ages, from his way, +And let his hopeful eyes behold +The dawn of Thy millennial day; + +That day when fettered limb and mind +Shall know the truth which maketh free, +And he alone who loves his kind +Shall, childlike, claim the love of Thee! + + +DANIEL NEALL. +Dr. Neall, a worthy disciple of that venerated philanthropist, Warner +Mifflin, whom the Girondist statesman, Jean Pierre Brissot, pronounced +"an angel of mercy, the best man he ever knew," was one of the noble +band of Pennsylvania abolitionists, whose bravery was equalled only by +their gentleness and tenderness. He presided at the great anti-slavery +meeting in Pennsylvania Hall, May 17, 1838, when the Hall was surrounded +by a furious mob. I was standing near him while the glass of the windows +broken by missiles showered over him, and a deputation from the rioters +forced its way to the platform, and demanded that the meeting should be +closed at once. Dr. Neall drew up his tall form to its utmost height. "I +am here," he said, "the president of this meeting, and I will be torn in +pieces before I leave my place at your dictation. Go back to those who +sent you. I shall do my duty." Some years after, while visiting his +relatives in his native State of Delaware, he was dragged from the house +of his friends by a mob of slave-holders and brutally maltreated. He +bore it like a martyr of the old times; and when released, told his +persecutors that he forgave them, for it was not they but Slavery which +had done the wrong. If they should ever be in Philadelphia and needed +hospitality or aid, let them call on him. + +I. +FRIEND of the Slave, and yet the friend of all; +Lover of peace, yet ever foremost when +The need of battling Freedom called for men +To plant the banner on the outer wall; +Gentle and kindly, ever at distress +Melted to more than woman's tenderness, +Yet firm and steadfast, at his duty's post +Fronting the violence of a maddened host, +Like some gray rock from which the waves are +tossed! +Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not +The faith of one whose walk and word were +right; +Who tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought, +And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught +A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white +Prompt to redress another's wrong, his own +Leaving to Time and Truth and Penitence alone. + +II. +Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan, +A true and brave and downright honest man +He blew no trumpet in the market-place, +Nor in the church with hypocritic face +Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace; +Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will +What others talked of while their hands were still; +And, while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried, +Who, in the poor, their Master crucified, +His daily prayer, far better understood +In acts than words, was simply doing good. +So calm, so constant was his rectitude, +That by his loss alone we know its worth, +And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth. +6th, 6th month, 1846. + + + + +SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT. + +"Sebah, Oasis of Fezzan, 10th March, 1846.--This evening the female +slaves were unusually excited in singing, and I had the curiosity to ask +my negro servant, Said, what they were singing about. As many of them +were natives of his own country, he had no difficulty in translating the +Mandara or Bornou language. I had often asked the Moors to translate +their songs for me, but got no satisfactory account from them. Said at +first said, 'Oh, they sing of Rubee' (God). 'What do you mean?' I +replied, impatiently. 'Oh, don't you know?' he continued, 'they asked +God to give them their Atka?' (certificate of freedom). I inquired, 'Is +that all?' Said: 'No; they say, "Where are we going? The world is large. +O God! Where are we going? O God!"' I inquired, `What else?' Said: `They +remember their country, Bornou, and say, "Bornou was a pleasant country, +full of all good things; but this is a bad country, and we are +miserable!"' `Do they say anything else?' Said: 'No; they repeat these +words over and over again, and add, "O God! give us our Atka, and let us +return again to our dear home."' + +"I am not surprised I got little satisfaction when I asked the Moors +about the songs of their slaves. Who will say that the above words are +not a very appropriate song? What could have been more congenially +adapted to their then woful condition? It is not to be wondered at that +these poor bondwomen cheer up their hearts, in their long, lonely, and +painful wanderings over the desert, with words and sentiments like +these; but I have often observed that their fatigue and sufferings were +too great for them to strike up this melancholy dirge, and many days +their plaintive strains never broke over the silence of the desert."-- +Richardson's Journal in Africa. + +WHERE are we going? where are we going, +Where are we going, Rubee? +Lord of peoples, lord of lands, +Look across these shining sands, +Through the furnace of the noon, +Through the white light of the moon. +Strong the Ghiblee wind is blowing, +Strange and large the world is growing! +Speak and tell us where we are going, +Where are we going, Rubee? + +Bornou land was rich and good, +Wells of water, fields of food, +Dourra fields, and bloom of bean, +And the palm-tree cool and green +Bornou land we see no longer, +Here we thirst and here we hunger, +Here the Moor-man smites in anger +Where are we going, Rubee? + +When we went from Bornou land, +We were like the leaves and sand, +We were many, we are few; +Life has one, and death has two +Whitened bones our path are showing, +Thou All-seeing, thou All-knowing +Hear us, tell us, where are we going, +Where are we going, Rubee? + +Moons of marches from our eyes +Bornou land behind us lies; +Stranger round us day by day +Bends the desert circle gray; +Wild the waves of sand are flowing, +Hot the winds above them blowing,-- +Lord of all things! where are we going? +Where are we going, Rubee? + +We are weak, but Thou art strong; +Short our lives, but Thine is long; +We are blind, but Thou hast eyes; +We are fools, but Thou art wise! +Thou, our morrow's pathway knowing +Through the strange world round us growing, +Hear us, tell us where are we going, +Where are we going, Rubee? +1847. + + + + +TO DELAWARE. + +Written during the discussion in the Legislature of that State, in the +winter of 1846-47, of a bill for the abolition of slavery. + +THRICE welcome to thy sisters of the East, +To the strong tillers of a rugged home, +With spray-wet locks to Northern winds released, +And hardy feet o'erswept by ocean's foam; +And to the young nymphs of the golden West, +Whose harvest mantles, fringed with prairie bloom, +Trail in the sunset,--O redeemed and blest, +To the warm welcome of thy sisters come! +Broad Pennsylvania, down her sail-white bay +Shall give thee joy, and Jersey from her plains, +And the great lakes, where echo, free alway, +Moaned never shoreward with the clank of chains, +Shall weave new sun-bows in their tossing spray, +And all their waves keep grateful holiday. +And, smiling on thee through her mountain rains, +Vermont shall bless thee; and the granite peaks, +And vast Katahdin o'er his woods, shall wear +Their snow-crowns brighter in the cold, keen air; +And Massachusetts, with her rugged cheeks +O'errun with grateful tears, shall turn to thee, +When, at thy bidding, the electric wire +Shall tremble northward with its words of fire; +Glory and praise to God! another State is free! +1847. + + + + +YORKTOWN. + +Dr. Thacher, surgeon in Scammel's regiment, in his description of the +siege of Yorktown, says: "The labor on the Virginia plantations is +performed altogether by a species of the human race cruelly wrested from +their native country, and doomed to perpetual bondage, while their +masters are manfully contending for freedom and the natural rights of +man. Such is the inconsistency of human nature." Eighteen hundred slaves +were found at Yorktown, after its surrender, and restored to their +masters. Well was it said by Dr. Barnes, in his late work on Slavery: +"No slave was any nearer his freedom after the surrender of Yorktown +than when Patrick Henry first taught the notes of liberty to echo among +the hills and vales of Virginia." + +FROM Yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, +Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill +Who curbs his steed at head of one? +Hark! the low murmur: Washington! +Who bends his keen, approving glance, +Where down the gorgeous line of France +Shine knightly star and plume of snow? +Thou too art victor, Rochambeau! +The earth which bears this calm array +Shook with the war-charge yesterday, + +Ploughed deep with hurrying hoof and wheel, +Shot-sown and bladed thick with steel; +October's clear and noonday sun +Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun, +And down night's double blackness fell, +Like a dropped star, the blazing shell. + +Now all is hushed: the gleaming lines +Stand moveless as the neighboring pines; +While through them, sullen, grim, and slow, +The conquered hosts of England go +O'Hara's brow belies his dress, +Gay Tarleton's troop rides bannerless: +Shout, from thy fired and wasted homes, +Thy scourge, Virginia, captive comes! + +Nor thou alone; with one glad voice +Let all thy sister States rejoice; +Let Freedom, in whatever clime +She waits with sleepless eye her time, +Shouting from cave and mountain wood +Make glad her desert solitude, +While they who hunt her quail with fear; +The New World's chain lies broken here! + +But who are they, who, cowering, wait +Within the shattered fortress gate? +Dark tillers of Virginia's soil, +Classed with the battle's common spoil, +With household stuffs, and fowl, and swine, +With Indian weed and planters' wine, +With stolen beeves, and foraged corn,-- +Are they not men, Virginian born? + +Oh, veil your faces, young and brave! +Sleep, Scammel, in thy soldier grave +Sons of the Northland, ye who set +Stout hearts against the bayonet, +And pressed with steady footfall near +The moated battery's blazing tier, +Turn your scarred faces from the sight, +Let shame do homage to the right! + +Lo! fourscore years have passed; and where +The Gallic bugles stirred the air, +And, through breached batteries, side by side, +To victory stormed the hosts allied, +And brave foes grounded, pale with pain, +The arms they might not lift again, +As abject as in that old day +The slave still toils his life away. + +Oh, fields still green and fresh in story, +Old days of pride, old names of glory, +Old marvels of the tongue and pen, +Old thoughts which stirred the hearts of men, +Ye spared the wrong; and over all +Behold the avenging shadow fall! +Your world-wide honor stained with shame,-- +Your freedom's self a hollow name! + +Where's now the flag of that old war? +Where flows its stripe? Where burns its star? +Bear witness, Palo Alto's day, +Dark Vale of Palms, red Monterey, +Where Mexic Freedom, young and weak, +Fleshes the Northern eagle's beak; +Symbol of terror and despair, +Of chains and slaves, go seek it there! + +Laugh, Prussia, midst thy iron ranks +Laugh, Russia, from thy Neva's banks! +Brave sport to see the fledgling born +Of Freedom by its parent torn! +Safe now is Speilberg's dungeon cell, +Safe drear Siberia's frozen hell +With Slavery's flag o'er both unrolled, +What of the New World fears the Old? +1847. + + + + +RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. + +O MOTHER EARTH! upon thy lap +Thy weary ones receiving, +And o'er them, silent as a dream, +Thy grassy mantle weaving, +Fold softly in thy long embrace +That heart so worn and broken, +And cool its pulse of fire beneath +Thy shadows old and oaken. + +Shut out from him the bitter word +And serpent hiss of scorning; +Nor let the storms of yesterday +Disturb his quiet morning. +Breathe over him forgetfulness +Of all save deeds of kindness, +And, save to smiles of grateful eyes, +Press down his lids in blindness. + +There, where with living ear and eye +He heard Potomac's flowing, +And, through his tall ancestral trees, +Saw autumn's sunset glowing, +He sleeps, still looking to the west, +Beneath the dark wood shadow, +As if he still would see the sun +Sink down on wave and meadow. + +Bard, Sage, and Tribune! in himself +All moods of mind contrasting,-- +The tenderest wail of human woe, +The scorn like lightning blasting; +The pathos which from rival eyes +Unwilling tears could summon, +The stinging taunt, the fiery burst +Of hatred scarcely human! + +Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, +From lips of life-long sadness; +Clear picturings of majestic thought +Upon a ground of madness; +And over all Romance and Song +A classic beauty throwing, +And laurelled Clio at his side +Her storied pages showing. + +All parties feared him: each in turn +Beheld its schemes disjointed, +As right or left his fatal glance +And spectral finger pointed. +Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down +With trenchant wit unsparing, +And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand +The robe Pretence was wearing. + +Too honest or too proud to feign +A love he never cherished, +Beyond Virginia's border line +His patriotism perished. +While others hailed in distant skies +Our eagle's dusky pinion, +He only saw the mountain bird +Stoop o'er his Old Dominion! + +Still through each change of fortune strange, +Racked nerve, and brain all burning, +His loving faith in Mother-land +Knew never shade of turning; +By Britain's lakes, by Neva's tide, +Whatever sky was o'er him, +He heard her rivers' rushing sound, +Her blue peaks rose before him. + +He held his slaves, yet made withal +No false and vain pretences, +Nor paid a lying priest to seek +For Scriptural defences. +His harshest words of proud rebuke, +His bitterest taunt and scorning, +Fell fire-like on the Northern brow +That bent to him in fawning. + +He held his slaves; yet kept the while +His reverence for the Human; +In the dark vassals of his will +He saw but Man and Woman! +No hunter of God's outraged poor +His Roanoke valley entered; +No trader in the souls of men +Across his threshold ventured. + +And when the old and wearied man +Lay down for his last sleeping, +And at his side, a slave no more, +His brother-man stood weeping, +His latest thought, his latest breath, +To Freedom's duty giving, +With failing tengue and trembling hand +The dying blest the living. + +Oh, never bore his ancient State +A truer son or braver +None trampling with a calmer scorn +On foreign hate or favor. +He knew her faults, yet never stooped +His proud and manly feeling +To poor excuses of the wrong +Or meanness of concealing. + +But none beheld with clearer eye +The plague-spot o'er her spreading, +None heard more sure the steps of Doom +Along her future treading. +For her as for himself he spake, +When, his gaunt frame upbracing, +He traced with dying hand "Remorse!" +And perished in the tracing. + +As from the grave where Henry sleeps, +From Vernon's weeping willow, +And from the grassy pall which hides +The Sage of Monticello, +So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone +Of Randolph's lowly dwelling, +Virginia! o'er thy land of slaves +A warning voice is swelling! + +And hark! from thy deserted fields +Are sadder warnings spoken, +From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons +Their household gods have broken. +The curse is on thee,--wolves for men, +And briers for corn-sheaves giving +Oh, more than all thy dead renown +Were now one hero living +1847. + + + + +THE LOST STATESMAN. + +Written on hearing of the death of Silas Wright of New York. + +As they who, tossing midst the storm at night, +While turning shoreward, where a beacon shone, +Meet the walled blackness of the heaven alone, +So, on the turbulent waves of party tossed, +In gloom and tempest, men have seen thy light +Quenched in the darkness. At thy hour of noon, +While life was pleasant to thy undimmed sight, +And, day by day, within thy spirit grew +A holier hope than young Ambition knew, +As through thy rural quiet, not in vain, +Pierced the sharp thrill of Freedom's cry of pain, +Man of the millions, thou art lost too soon +Portents at which the bravest stand aghast,-- +The birth-throes of a Future, strange and vast, +Alarm the land; yet thou, so wise and strong, +Suddenly summoned to the burial bed, +Lapped in its slumbers deep and ever long, +Hear'st not the tumult surging overhead. +Who now shall rally Freedom's scattering host? +Who wear the mantle of the leader lost? +Who stay the march of slavery? He whose voice +Hath called thee from thy task-field shall not lack +Yet bolder champions, to beat bravely back +The wrong which, through his poor ones, reaches Him: +Yet firmer hands shall Freedom's torchlights trim, +And wave them high across the abysmal black, +Till bound, dumb millions there shall see them and rejoice. +10th mo., 1847. + + + + +THE SLAVES OF MARTINIQUE. + +Suggested by a daguerreotype taken from a small French engraving of two +negro figures, sent to the writer by Oliver Johnson. + +BEAMS of noon, like burning lances, through the +tree-tops flash and glisten, +As she stands before her lover, with raised face to +look and listen. + +Dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancient +Jewish song +Scarcely has the toil of task-fields done her graceful +beauty wrong. + +He, the strong one and the manly, with the vassal's +garb and hue, +Holding still his spirit's birthright, to his higher +nature true; + +Hiding deep the strengthening purpose of a freeman +in his heart, +As the gregree holds his Fetich from the white +man's gaze apart. + +Ever foremost of his comrades, when the driver's +morning horn +Calls away to stifling mill-house, to the fields of +cane and corn. + +Fall the keen and burning lashes never on his back +or limb; +Scarce with look or word of censure, turns the +driver unto him. + +Yet, his brow is always thoughtful, and his eye is +hard and stern; +Slavery's last and humblest lesson he has never +deigned to learn. + +And, at evening, when his comrades dance before +their master's door, +Folding arms and knitting forehead, stands he +silent evermore. + +God be praised for every instinct which rebels +against a lot +Where the brute survives the human, and man's +upright form is not! + +As the serpent-like bejuco winds his spiral fold +on fold +Round the tall and stately ceiba, till it withers in +his hold; + +Slow decays the forest monarch, closer girds the +fell embrace, +Till the tree is seen no longer, and the vine is in +its place; + +So a base and bestial nature round the vassal's +manhood twines, +And the spirit wastes beneath it, like the ceiba +choked with vines. + +God is Love, saith the Evangel; and our world of +woe and sin +Is made light and happy only when a Love is +shining in. + +Ye whose lives are free as sunshine, finding, where- +soe'er ye roam, +Smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, making all +the world like home; + +In the veins of whose affections kindred blood is +but a part., +Of one kindly current throbbing from the universal +heart; + +Can ye know the deeper meaning of a love in Slavery +nursed, +Last flower of a lost Eden, blooming in that Soil +accursed? + +Love of Home, and Love of Woman!--dear to all, +but doubly dear +To the heart whose pulses elsewhere measure only +hate and fear. + +All around the desert circles, underneath a brazen +sky, +Only one green spot remaining where the dew is +never dry! + +From the horror of that desert, from its atmosphere +of hell, +Turns the fainting spirit thither, as the diver seeks +his bell. + +'T is the fervid tropic noontime; faint and low the +sea-waves beat; +Hazy rise the inland mountains through the glimmer +of the heat,-- + +Where, through mingled leaves and blossoms, +arrowy sunbeams flash and glisten, +Speaks her lover to the slave-girl, and she lifts her +head to listen:-- + +"We shall live as slaves no longer! Freedom's +hour is close at hand! +Rocks her bark upon the waters, rests the boat +upon the strand! + +"I have seen the Haytien Captain; I have seen +his swarthy crew, +Haters of the pallid faces, to their race and color +true. + +"They have sworn to wait our coming till the night +has passed its noon, +And the gray and darkening waters roll above the +sunken moon!" + +Oh, the blessed hope of freedom! how with joy +and glad surprise, +For an instant throbs her bosom, for an instant +beam her eyes! + +But she looks across the valley, where her mother's +hut is seen, +Through the snowy bloom of coffee, and the lemon- +leaves so green. + +And she answers, sad and earnest: "It were wrong +for thee to stay; +God hath heard thy prayer for freedom, and his +finger points the way. + +"Well I know with what endurance, for the sake +of me and mine, +Thou hast borne too long a burden never meant +for souls like thine. + +"Go; and at the hour of midnight, when our last +farewell is o'er, +Kneeling on our place of parting, I will bless thee +from the shore. + +"But for me, my mother, lying on her sick-bed +all the day, +Lifts her weary head to watch me, coming through +the twilight gray. + +"Should I leave her sick and helpless, even freedom, +shared with thee, +Would be sadder far than bondage, lonely toil, and +stripes to me. + +"For my heart would die within me, and my brain +would soon be wild; +I should hear my mother calling through the twilight +for her child!" + +Blazing upward from the ocean, shines the sun of +morning-time, +Through the coffee-trees in blossom, and green +hedges of the lime. + +Side by side, amidst the slave-gang, toil the lover +and the maid; +Wherefore looks he o'er the waters, leaning forward +on his spade? + +Sadly looks he, deeply sighs he: 't is the Haytien's +sail he sees, +Like a white cloud of the mountains, driven seaward +by the breeze. + +But his arm a light hand presses, and he hears a +low voice call +Hate of Slavery, hope of Freedom, Love is mightier +than all. +1848. + + + + +THE CURSE OF THE CHARTER-BREAKERS. + +The rights and liberties affirmed by Magna Charta were deemed of such +importance, in the thirteenth century, that the Bishops, twice a year, +with tapers burning, and in their pontifical robes, pronounced, in the +presence of the king and the representatives of the estates of England, +the greater excommunication against the infringer of that instrument. +The imposing ceremony took place in the great Hall of Westminster. A +copy of the curse, as pronounced in 1253, declares that, "by the +authority of Almighty God, and the blessed Apostles and Martyrs, and all +the saints in heaven, all those who violate the English liberties, and +secretly or openly, by deed, word, or counsel, do make statutes, or +observe then being made, against said liberties, are accursed and +sequestered from the company of heaven and the sacraments of the Holy +Church." + +William Penn, in his admirable political pamphlet, England's +Present Interest Considered, alluding to the curse of the Charter- +breakers, says: "I am no Roman Catholic, and little value their +other curses; yet I declare I would not for the world incur this +curse, as every man deservedly doth, who offers violence to the +fundamental freedom thereby repeated and confirmed." + +IN Westminster's royal halls, +Robed in their pontificals, +England's ancient prelates stood +For the people's right and good. +Closed around the waiting crowd, +Dark and still, like winter's cloud; +King and council, lord and knight, +Squire and yeoman, stood in sight; +Stood to hear the priest rehearse, +In God's name, the Church's curse, +By the tapers round them lit, +Slowly, sternly uttering it. + +"Right of voice in framing laws, +Right of peers to try each cause; +Peasant homestead, mean and small, +Sacred as the monarch's hall,-- + +"Whoso lays his hand on these, +England's ancient liberties; +Whoso breaks, by word or deed, +England's vow at Runnymede; + +"Be he Prince or belted knight, +Whatsoe'er his rank or might, +If the highest, then the worst, +Let him live and die accursed. + +"Thou, who to Thy Church hast given +Keys alike, of hell and heaven, +Make our word and witness sure, +Let the curse we speak endure!" + +Silent, while that curse was said, +Every bare and listening head +Bowed in reverent awe, and then +All the people said, Amen! + +Seven times the bells have tolled, +For the centuries gray and old, +Since that stoled and mitred band +Cursed the tyrants of their land. + +Since the priesthood, like a tower, +Stood between the poor and power; +And the wronged and trodden down +Blessed the abbot's shaven crown. + +Gone, thank God, their wizard spell, +Lost, their keys of heaven and hell; +Yet I sigh for men as bold +As those bearded priests of old. + +Now, too oft the priesthood wait +At the threshold of the state; +Waiting for the beck and nod +Of its power as law and God. + +Fraud exults, while solemn words +Sanctify his stolen hoards; +Slavery laughs, while ghostly lips +Bless his manacles and whips. + +Not on them the poor rely, +Not to them looks liberty, +Who with fawning falsehood cower +To the wrong, when clothed with power. + +Oh, to see them meanly cling, +Round the master, round the king, +Sported with, and sold and bought,-- +Pitifuller sight is not! + +Tell me not that this must be +God's true priest is always free; +Free, the needed truth to speak, +Right the wronged, and raise the weak. + +Not to fawn on wealth and state, +Leaving Lazarus at the gate; +Not to peddle creeds like wares; +Not to mutter hireling prayers; + +Nor to paint the new life's bliss +On the sable ground of this; +Golden streets for idle knave, +Sabbath rest for weary slave! + +Not for words and works like these, +Priest of God, thy mission is; +But to make earth's desert glad, +In its Eden greenness clad; + +And to level manhood bring +Lord and peasant, serf and king; +And the Christ of God to find +In the humblest of thy kind! + +Thine to work as well as pray, +Clearing thorny wrongs away; +Plucking up the weeds of sin, +Letting heaven's warm sunshine in; + +Watching on the hills of Faith; +Listening what the spirit saith, +Of the dim-seen light afar, +Growing like a nearing star. + +God's interpreter art thou, +To the waiting ones below; +'Twixt them and its light midway +Heralding the better day; + +Catching gleams of temple spires, +Hearing notes of angel choirs, +Where, as yet unseen of them, +Comes the New Jerusalem! + +Like the seer of Patmos gazing, +On the glory downward blazing; +Till upon Earth's grateful sod +Rests the City of our God! +1848. + + + + +PAEAN. + +This poem indicates the exultation of the anti-slavery party in view of +the revolt of the friends of Martin Van Buren in New York, from the +Democratic Presidential nomination in 1848. + +Now, joy and thanks forevermore! +The dreary night has wellnigh passed, +The slumbers of the North are o'er, +The Giant stands erect at last! + +More than we hoped in that dark time +When, faint with watching, few and worn, +We saw no welcome day-star climb +The cold gray pathway of the morn! + +O weary hours! O night of years! +What storms our darkling pathway swept, +Where, beating back our thronging fears, +By Faith alone our march we kept. + +How jeered the scoffing crowd behind, +How mocked before the tyrant train, +As, one by one, the true and kind +Fell fainting in our path of pain! + +They died, their brave hearts breaking slow, +But, self-forgetful to the last, +In words of cheer and bugle blow +Their breath upon the darkness passed. + +A mighty host, on either hand, +Stood waiting for the dawn of day +To crush like reeds our feeble band; +The morn has come, and where are they? + +Troop after troop their line forsakes; +With peace-white banners waving free, +And from our own the glad shout breaks, +Of Freedom and Fraternity! + +Like mist before the growing light, +The hostile cohorts melt away; +Our frowning foemen of the night +Are brothers at the dawn of day. + +As unto these repentant ones +We open wide our toil-worn ranks, +Along our line a murmur runs +Of song, and praise, and grateful thanks. + +Sound for the onset! Blast on blast! +Till Slavery's minions cower and quail; +One charge of fire shall drive them fast +Like chaff before our Northern gale! + +O prisoners in your house of pain, +Dumb, toiling millions, bound and sold, +Look! stretched o'er Southern vale and plain, +The Lord's delivering hand behold! + +Above the tyrant's pride of power, +His iron gates and guarded wall, +The bolts which shattered Shinar's tower +Hang, smoking, for a fiercer fall. + +Awake! awake! my Fatherland! +It is thy Northern light that shines; +This stirring march of Freedom's band +The storm-song of thy mountain pines. + +Wake, dwellers where the day expires! +And hear, in winds that sweep your lakes +And fan your prairies' roaring fires, +The signal-call that Freedom makes! +1848. + + + + +THE CRISIS. + +Written on learning the terms of the treaty with Mexico. + +ACROSS the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's +drouth and sand, +The circles of our empire touch the western ocean's +strand; +From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gila, wild and +free, +Flowing down from Nuevo-Leon to California's sea; +And from the mountains of the east, to Santa +Rosa's shore, +The eagles of Mexitli shall beat the air no more. + +O Vale of Rio Bravo! Let thy simple children +weep; +Close watch about their holy fire let maids of +Pecos keep; +Let Taos send her cry across Sierra Madre's pines, +And Santa Barbara toll her bells amidst her corn +and vines; +For lo! the pale land-seekers come, with eager eyes +of gain, +Wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad +Salada's plain. + +Let Sacramento's herdsmen heed what sound the +winds bring down +Of footsteps on the crisping snow, from cold +Nevada's crown! +Full hot and fast the Saxon rides, with rein of +travel slack, +And, bending o'er his saddle, leaves the sunrise at +his back; +By many a lonely river, and gorge of fir and +pine, +On many a wintry hill-top, his nightly camp-fires +shine. + +O countrymen and brothers! that land of lake and +plain, +Of salt wastes alternating with valleys fat with +grain; +Of mountains white with winter, looking downward, +cold, serene, +On their feet with spring-vines tangled and lapped +in softest green; +Swift through whose black volcanic gates, o'er +many a sunny vale, +Wind-like the Arapahoe sweeps the bison's dusty +trail! + +Great spaces yet untravelled, great lakes whose +mystic shores +The Saxon rifle never heard, nor dip of Saxon oars; +Great herds that wander all unwatched, wild steeds +that none have tamed, +Strange fish in unknown streams, and birds the +Saxon never named; +Deep mines, dark mountain crucibles, where Nature's +chemic powers +Work out the Great Designer's will; all these ye +say are ours! + +Forever ours! for good or ill, on us the burden +lies; +God's balance, watched by angels, is hung across +the skies. +Shall Justice, Truth, and Freedom turn the poised +and trembling scale? +Or shall the Evil triumph, and robber Wrong prevail? +Shall the broad land o'er which our flag in starry +splendor waves, +Forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread +of slaves? + +The day is breaking in the East of which the +prophets told, +And brightens up the sky of Time the Christian +Age of Gold; +Old Might to Right is yielding, battle blade to +clerkly pen, +Earth's monarchs are her peoples, and her serfs +stand up as men; + +The isles rejoice together, in a day are nations +born, +And the slave walks free in Tunis, and by Stamboul's +Golden Horn! + +Is this, O countrymen of mine! a day for us to sow +The soil of new-gained empire with slavery's seeds +of woe? +To feed with our fresh life-blood the Old World's +cast-off crime, +Dropped, like some monstrous early birth, from +the tired lap of Time? +To run anew the evil race the old lost nations ran, +And die like them of unbelief of God, and wrong +of man? + +Great Heaven! Is this our mission? End in this +the prayers and tears, +The toil, the strife, the watchings of our younger, +better years? +Still as the Old World rolls in light, shall ours in +shadow turn, +A beamless Chaos, cursed of God, through outer +darkness borne? +Where the far nations looked for light, a black- +ness in the air? +Where for words of hope they listened, the long +wail of despair? + +The Crisis presses on us; face to face with us it +stands, +With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in +Egypt's sands! +This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we +spin; +This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or +sin; +Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy +crown, +We call the dews of blessing or the bolts of cursing +down! + +By all for which the martyrs bore their agony and +shame; +By all the warning words of truth with which the +prophets came; +By the Future which awaits us; by all the hopes +which cast +Their faint and trembling beams across the black- +ness of the Past; +And by the blessed thought of Him who for Earth's +freedom died, +O my people! O my brothers! let us choose the +righteous side. + +So shall the Northern pioneer go joyful on his +way; +To wed Penobseot's waters to San Francisco's bay; +To make the rugged places smooth, and sow the +vales with grain; +And bear, with Liberty and Law, the Bible in his +train +The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall +answer sea, +And mountain unto mountain call, Praise God, for +we are free +1845. + + + + +LINES ON THE PORTRAIT OF A CELEBRATED PUBLISHER. + +A pleasant print to peddle out +In lands of rice and cotton; +The model of that face in dough +Would make the artist's fortune. +For Fame to thee has come unsought, +While others vainly woo her, +In proof how mean a thing can make +A great man of its doer. + + +To whom shall men thyself compare, +Since common models fail 'em, +Save classic goose of ancient Rome, +Or sacred ass of Balaam? +The gabble of that wakeful goose +Saved Rome from sack of Brennus; +The braying of the prophet's ass +Betrayed the angel's menace! + +So when Guy Fawkes, in petticoats, +And azure-tinted hose oil, +Was twisting from thy love-lorn sheets +The slow-match of explosion-- +An earthquake blast that would have tossed +The Union as a feather, +Thy instinct saved a perilled land +And perilled purse together. + +Just think of Carolina's sage +Sent whirling like a Dervis, +Of Quattlebum in middle air +Performing strange drill-service! +Doomed like Assyria's lord of old, +Who fell before the Jewess, +Or sad Abimelech, to sigh, +"Alas! a woman slew us!" + +Thou saw'st beneath a fair disguise +The danger darkly lurking, +And maiden bodice dreaded more +Than warrior's steel-wrought jerkin. +How keen to scent the hidden plot! +How prompt wert thou to balk it, +With patriot zeal and pedler thrift, +For country and for pocket! + +Thy likeness here is doubtless well, +But higher honor's due it; +On auction-block and negro-jail +Admiring eyes should view it. +Or, hung aloft, it well might grace +The nation's senate-chamber-- +A greedy Northern bottle-fly +Preserved in Slavery's amber! +1850. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS II. *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named 9576.txt or 9576.zip ****** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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