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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/9577.txt b/9577.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..357f637 --- /dev/null +++ b/9577.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2467 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Anti-Slavery Poems III. by Whittier +Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform +#22 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 III. + 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 #9577] +[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 III. *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS + + SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM + + + BY + + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + +CONTENTS: + +DERNE +A SABBATH SCENE +IN THE EVIL DAY +MOLOCH IN STATE STREET +OFFICIAL PIETY +THE RENDITION +ARISEN AT LAST +THE HASCHISH +FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS' SAKE +THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS +LETTER FROM A MISSIONARY OF THE METHODIST + EPISCOPAL CHURCH SOUTH, IN KANSAS, TO A + DISTINGUISHED POLITICIAN +BURIAL OF BARBER +TO PENNSYLVANIA +LE MARAIS DU CYGNE. +THE PASS OF THE SIERRA +A SONG FOR THE TIME +WHAT OF THE DAY? +A SONG, INSCRIBED TO THE FREMONT CLUBS +THE PANORAMA +ON A PRAYER-BOOK +THE SUMMONS +TO WILLIAM H. SEWARD + + + +DERNE. + +The storming of the city of Derne, in 1805, by General Eaton, at the +head of nine Americans, forty Greeks, and a motley array of Turks and +Arabs, was one of those feats of hardihood and daring which have in all +ages attracted the admiration of the multitude. The higher and holier +heroism of Christian self-denial and sacrifice, in the humble walks of +private duty, is seldom so well appreciated. + +NIGHT on the city of the Moor! +On mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore, +On sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock +The narrow harbor-gates unlock, +On corsair's galley, carack tall, +And plundered Christian caraval! +The sounds of Moslem life are still; +No mule-bell tinkles down the hill; +Stretched in the broad court of the khan, +The dusty Bornou caravan +Lies heaped in slumber, beast and man; +The Sheik is dreaming in his tent, +His noisy Arab tongue o'erspent; +The kiosk's glimmering lights are gone, +The merchant with his wares withdrawn; +Rough pillowed on some pirate breast, +The dancing-girl has sunk to rest; +And, save where measured footsteps fall +Along the Bashaw's guarded wall, +Or where, like some bad dream, the Jew +Creeps stealthily his quarter through, +Or counts with fear his golden heaps, +The City of the Corsair sleeps. + +But where yon prison long and low +Stands black against the pale star-glow, +Chafed by the ceaseless wash of waves, +There watch and pine the Christian slaves; +Rough-bearded men, whose far-off wives +Wear out with grief their lonely lives; +And youth, still flashing from his eyes +The clear blue of New England skies, +A treasured lock of whose soft hair +Now wakes some sorrowing mother's prayer; +Or, worn upon some maiden breast, +Stirs with the loving heart's unrest. + +A bitter cup each life must drain, +The groaning earth is cursed with pain, +And, like the scroll the angel bore +The shuddering Hebrew seer before, +O'erwrit alike, without, within, +With all the woes which follow sin; +But, bitterest of the ills beneath +Whose load man totters down to death, +Is that which plucks the regal crown +Of Freedom from his forehead down, +And snatches from his powerless hand +The sceptred sign of self-command, +Effacing with the chain and rod +The image and the seal of God; +Till from his nature, day by day, +The manly virtues fall away, +And leave him naked, blind and mute, +The godlike merging in the brute! + +Why mourn the quiet ones who die +Beneath affection's tender eye, +Unto their household and their kin +Like ripened corn-sheaves gathered in? +O weeper, from that tranquil sod, +That holy harvest-home of God, +Turn to the quick and suffering, shed +Thy tears upon the living dead +Thank God above thy dear ones' graves, +They sleep with Him, they are not slaves. + +What dark mass, down the mountain-sides +Swift-pouring, like a stream divides? +A long, loose, straggling caravan, +Camel and horse and armed man. +The moon's low crescent, glimmering o'er +Its grave of waters to the shore, +Lights tip that mountain cavalcade, +And gleams from gun and spear and blade +Near and more near! now o'er them falls +The shadow of the city walls. +Hark to the sentry's challenge, drowned +In the fierce trumpet's charging sound! +The rush of men, the musket's peal, +The short, sharp clang of meeting steel! + +Vain, Moslem, vain thy lifeblood poured +So freely on thy foeman's sword! +Not to the swift nor to the strong +The battles of the right belong; +For he who strikes for Freedom wears +The armor of the captive's prayers, +And Nature proffers to his cause +The strength of her eternal laws; +While he whose arm essays to bind +And herd with common brutes his kind +Strives evermore at fearful odds +With Nature and the jealous gods, +And dares the dread recoil which late +Or soon their right shall vindicate. + +'T is done, the horned crescent falls +The star-flag flouts the broken walls +Joy to the captive husband! joy +To thy sick heart, O brown-locked boy! +In sullen wrath the conquered Moor +Wide open flings your dungeon-door, +And leaves ye free from cell and chain, +The owners of yourselves again. +Dark as his allies desert-born, +Soiled with the battle's stain, and worn +With the long marches of his band +Through hottest wastes of rock and sand, +Scorched by the sun and furnace-breath +Of the red desert's wind of death, +With welcome words and grasping hands, +The victor and deliverer stands! + +The tale is one of distant skies; +The dust of half a century lies +Upon it; yet its hero's name +Still lingers on the lips of Fame. +Men speak the praise of him who gave +Deliverance to the Moorman's slave, +Yet dare to brand with shame and crime +The heroes of our land and time,-- +The self-forgetful ones, who stake +Home, name, and life for Freedom's sake. +God mend his heart who cannot feel +The impulse of a holy zeal, +And sees not, with his sordid eyes, +The beauty of self-sacrifice +Though in the sacred place he stands, +Uplifting consecrated hands, +Unworthy are his lips to tell +Of Jesus' martyr-miracle, +Or name aright that dread embrace +Of suffering for a fallen race! +1850. + + + + +A SABBATH SCENE. + +This poem finds its justification in the readiness with which, even in +the North, clergymen urged the prompt execution of the Fugitive Slave +Law as a Christian duty, and defended the system of slavery as a Bible +institution. + +SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell +Ceased quivering in the steeple, +Scarce had the parson to his desk +Walked stately through his people, +When down the summer-shaded street +A wasted female figure, +With dusky brow and naked feet, + +Came rushing wild and eager. +She saw the white spire through the trees, +She heard the sweet hymn swelling +O pitying Christ! a refuge give +That poor one in Thy dwelling! + +Like a scared fawn before the hounds, +Right up the aisle she glided, +While close behind her, whip in hand, +A lank-haired hunter strided. + +She raised a keen and bitter cry, +To Heaven and Earth appealing; +Were manhood's generous pulses dead? +Had woman's heart no feeling? + +A score of stout hands rose between +The hunter and the flying: +Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes +Flashed tearful, yet defying. + +"Who dares profane this house and day?" +Cried out the angry pastor. +"Why, bless your soul, the wench's a slave, +And I'm her lord and master! + +"I've law and gospel on my side, +And who shall dare refuse me?" +Down came the parson, bowing low, +"My good sir, pray excuse me! + +"Of course I know your right divine +To own and work and whip her; +Quick, deacon, throw that Polyglott +Before the wench, and trip her!" + +Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er +Its sacred pages stumbling, +Bound hand and foot, a slave once more, +The hapless wretch lay trembling. + +I saw the parson tie the knots, +The while his flock addressing, +The Scriptural claims of slavery +With text on text impressing. + +"Although," said he, "on Sabbath day +All secular occupations +Are deadly sins, we must fulfil +Our moral obligations: + +"And this commends itself as one +To every conscience tender; +As Paul sent back Onesimus, +My Christian friends, we send her!" + +Shriek rose on shriek,--the Sabbath air +Her wild cries tore asunder; +I listened, with hushed breath, to hear +God answering with his thunder! + +All still! the very altar's cloth +Had smothered down her shrieking, +And, dumb, she turned from face to face, +For human pity seeking! + +I saw her dragged along the aisle, +Her shackles harshly clanking; +I heard the parson, over all, +The Lord devoutly thanking! + +My brain took fire: "Is this," I cried, +"The end of prayer and preaching? +Then down with pulpit, down with priest, +And give us Nature's teaching! + +"Foul shame and scorn be on ye all +Who turn the good to evil, +And steal the Bible, from the Lord, +To give it to the Devil! + +"Than garbled text or parchment law +I own a statute higher; +And God is true, though every book +And every man's a liar!" + +Just then I felt the deacon's hand +In wrath my coattail seize on; +I heard the priest cry, "Infidel!" +The lawyer mutter, "Treason!" + +I started up,--where now were church, +Slave, master, priest, and people? +I only heard the supper-bell, +Instead of clanging steeple. + +But, on the open window's sill, +O'er which the white blooms drifted, +The pages of a good old Book +The wind of summer lifted, + +And flower and vine, like angel wings +Around the Holy Mother, +Waved softly there, as if God's truth +And Mercy kissed each other. + +And freely from the cherry-bough +Above the casement swinging, +With golden bosom to the sun, +The oriole was singing. + +As bird and flower made plain of old +The lesson of the Teacher, +So now I heard the written Word +Interpreted by Nature. + +For to my ear methought the breeze +Bore Freedom's blessed word on; +Thus saith the Lord: Break every yoke, +Undo the heavy burden +1850. + + + + +IN THE EVIL DAYS. + +This and the four following poems have special reference to that darkest +hour in the aggression of slavery which preceded the dawn of a better +day, when the conscience of the people was roused to action. + +THE evil days have come, the poor +Are made a prey; +Bar up the hospitable door, +Put out the fire-lights, point no more +The wanderer's way. + +For Pity now is crime; the chain +Which binds our States +Is melted at her hearth in twain, +Is rusted by her tears' soft rain +Close up her gates. + +Our Union, like a glacier stirred +By voice below, +Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, +A beggar's crust, a kindly word +May overthrow! + +Poor, whispering tremblers! yet we boast +Our blood and name; +Bursting its century-bolted frost, +Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast +Cries out for shame! + +Oh for the open firmament, +The prairie free, +The desert hillside, cavern-rent, +The Pawnee's lodge, the Arab's tent, +The Bushman's tree! + +Than web of Persian loom most rare, +Or soft divan, +Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, +Or hollow tree, which man may share +With suffering man. + +I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law, +Let Love be dumb; +Clasping her liberal hands in awe, +Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw +From hearth and home." + +I hear another voice: "The poor +Are thine to feed; +Turn not the outcast from thy door, +Nor give to bonds and wrong once more +Whom God hath freed." + +Dear Lord! between that law and Thee +No choice remains; +Yet not untrue to man's decree, +Though spurning its rewards, is he +Who bears its pains. + +Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast +And threatening word; +I read the lesson of the Past, +That firm endurance wins at last +More than the sword. + +O clear-eyed Faith, and Patience thou +So calm and strong! +Lend strength to weakness, teach us how +The sleepless eyes of God look through +This night of wrong +1850. + + + + +MOLOCH IN STATE STREET. + +In a foot-note of the Report of the Senate of Massachusetts on the case +of the arrest and return to bondage of the fugitive slave Thomas Sims it +is stated that--"It would have been impossible for the U. S. marshal +thus successfully to have resisted the law of the State, without the +assistance of the municipal authorities of Boston, and the countenance +and support of a numerous, wealthy, and powerful body of citizens. It +was in evidence that 1500 of the most wealthy and respectable +citizens-merchants, bankers, and others--volunteered their services to +aid the marshal on this occasion. . . . No watch was kept upon the +doings of the marshal, and while the State officers slept, after the +moon had gone down, in the darkest hour before daybreak, the accused was +taken out of our jurisdiction by the armed police of the city of +Boston." + +THE moon has set: while yet the dawn +Breaks cold and gray, +Between the midnight and the morn +Bear off your prey! + +On, swift and still! the conscious street +Is panged and stirred; +Tread light! that fall of serried feet +The dead have heard! + +The first drawn blood of Freedom's veins +Gushed where ye tread; +Lo! through the dusk the martyr-stains +Blush darkly red! + +Beneath the slowly waning stars +And whitening day, +What stern and awful presence bars +That sacred way? + +What faces frown upon ye, dark +With shame and pain? +Come these from Plymouth's Pilgrim bark? +Is that young Vane? + +Who, dimly beckoning, speed ye on +With mocking cheer? +Lo! spectral Andros, Hutchinson, +And Gage are here! + +For ready mart or favoring blast +Through Moloch's fire, +Flesh of his flesh, unsparing, passed +The Tyrian sire. + +Ye make that ancient sacrifice +Of Mail to Gain, +Your traffic thrives, where Freedom dies, +Beneath the chain. + +Ye sow to-day; your harvest, scorn +And hate, is near; +How think ye freemen, mountain-born, +The tale will hear? + +Thank God! our mother State can yet +Her fame retrieve; +To you and to your children let +The scandal cleave. + +Chain Hall and Pulpit, Court and Press, +Make gods of gold; +Let honor, truth, and manliness +Like wares be sold. + +Your hoards are great, your walls are strong, +But God is just; +The gilded chambers built by wrong +Invite the rust. + +What! know ye not the gains of Crime +Are dust and dross; +Its ventures on the waves of time +Foredoomed to loss! + +And still the Pilgrim State remains +What she hath been; +Her inland hills, her seaward plains, +Still nurture men! + +Nor wholly lost the fallen mart; +Her olden blood +Through many a free and generous heart +Still pours its flood. + +That brave old blood, quick-flowing yet, +Shall know no check, +Till a free people's foot is set +On Slavery's neck. + +Even now, the peal of bell and gun, +And hills aflame, +Tell of the first great triumph won +In Freedom's name. [10] + +The long night dies: the welcome gray +Of dawn we see; +Speed up the heavens thy perfect day, +God of the free! +1851. + + + + +OFFICIAL PIETY. + +Suggested by reading a state paper, wherein the higher law is invoked to +sustain the lower one. + +A Pious magistrate! sound his praise throughout +The wondering churches. Who shall henceforth doubt +That the long-wished millennium draweth nigh? +Sin in high places has become devout, +Tithes mint, goes painful-faced, and prays its lie +Straight up to Heaven, and calls it piety! +The pirate, watching from his bloody deck +The weltering galleon, heavy with the gold +Of Acapulco, holding death in check +While prayers are said, brows crossed, and beads are told; +The robber, kneeling where the wayside cross +On dark Abruzzo tells of life's dread loss +From his own carbine, glancing still abroad +For some new victim, offering thanks to God! +Rome, listening at her altars to the cry +Of midnight Murder, while her hounds of hell +Scour France, from baptized cannon and holy bell +And thousand-throated priesthood, loud and high, +Pealing Te Deums to the shuddering sky, +"Thanks to the Lord, who giveth victory!" +What prove these, but that crime was ne'er so black +As ghostly cheer and pious thanks to lack? +Satan is modest. At Heaven's door he lays +His evil offspring, and, in Scriptural phrase +And saintly posture, gives to God the praise +And honor of the monstrous progeny. +What marvel, then, in our own time to see +His old devices, smoothly acted o'er,-- +Official piety, locking fast the door +Of Hope against three million soups of men,-- +Brothers, God's children, Christ's redeemed,--and then, +With uprolled eyeballs and on bended knee, +Whining a prayer for help to hide the key! +1853. + + + + +THE RENDITION. +On the 2d of June, 1854, Anthony Burns, a fugitive slave from Virginia, +after being under arrest for ten days in the Boston Court House, was +remanded to slavery under the Fugitive Slave Act, and taken down State +Street to a steamer chartered by the United States Government, under +guard of United States troops and artillery, Massachusetts militia and +Boston police. Public excitement ran high, a futile attempt to rescue +Burns having been made during his confinement, and the streets were +crowded with tens of thousands of people, of whom many came from other +towns and cities of the State to witness the humiliating spectacle. + +I HEARD the train's shrill whistle call, +I saw an earnest look beseech, +And rather by that look than speech +My neighbor told me all. + +And, as I thought of Liberty +Marched handcuffed down that sworded street, +The solid earth beneath my feet +Reeled fluid as the sea. + +I felt a sense of bitter loss,-- +Shame, tearless grief, and stifling wrath, +And loathing fear, as if my path +A serpent stretched across. + +All love of home, all pride of place, +All generous confidence and trust, +Sank smothering in that deep disgust +And anguish of disgrace. + +Down on my native hills of June, +And home's green quiet, hiding all, +Fell sudden darkness like the fall +Of midnight upon noon. + +And Law, an unloosed maniac, strong, +Blood-drunken, through the blackness trod, +Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God +The blasphemy of wrong. + +"O Mother, from thy memories proud, +Thy old renown, dear Commonwealth, +Lend this dead air a breeze of health, +And smite with stars this cloud. + +"Mother of Freedom, wise and brave, +Rise awful in thy strength," I said; +Ah me! I spake but to the dead; +I stood upon her grave! +6th mo., 1854. + + + + +ARISEN AT LAST. + +On the passage of the bill to protect the rights and liberties of the +people of the State against the Fugitive Slave Act. + +I SAID I stood upon thy grave, +My Mother State, when last the moon +Of blossoms clomb the skies of June. + +And, scattering ashes on my head, +I wore, undreaming of relief, +The sackcloth of thy shame and grief. + +Again that moon of blossoms shines +On leaf and flower and folded wing, +And thou hast risen with the spring! + +Once more thy strong maternal arms +Are round about thy children flung,-- +A lioness that guards her young! + +No threat is on thy closed lips, +But in thine eye a power to smite +The mad wolf backward from its light. + +Southward the baffled robber's track +Henceforth runs only; hereaway, +The fell lycanthrope finds no prey. + +Henceforth, within thy sacred gates, +His first low howl shall downward draw +The thunder of thy righteous law. + +Not mindless of thy trade and gain, +But, acting on the wiser plan, +Thou'rt grown conservative of man. + +So shalt thou clothe with life the hope, +Dream-painted on the sightless eyes +Of him who sang of Paradise,-- + +The vision of a Christian man, +In virtue, as in stature great +Embodied in a Christian State. + +And thou, amidst thy sisterhood +Forbearing long, yet standing fast, +Shalt win their grateful thanks at last; + +When North and South shall strive no more, +And all their feuds and fears be lost +In Freedom's holy Pentecost. +6th mo., 1855. + + + + +THE HASCHISH. + +OF all that Orient lands can vaunt +Of marvels with our own competing, +The strangest is the Haschish plant, +And what will follow on its eating. + +What pictures to the taster rise, +Of Dervish or of Almeh dances! +Of Eblis, or of Paradise, +Set all aglow with Houri glances! + +The poppy visions of Cathay, +The heavy beer-trance of the Suabian; +The wizard lights and demon play +Of nights Walpurgis and Arabian! + +The Mollah and the Christian dog +Change place in mad metempsychosis; +The Muezzin climbs the synagogue, +The Rabbi shakes his beard at Moses! + +The Arab by his desert well +Sits choosing from some Caliph's daughters, +And hears his single camel's bell +Sound welcome to his regal quarters. + +The Koran's reader makes complaint +Of Shitan dancing on and off it; +The robber offers alms, the saint +Drinks Tokay and blasphemes the Prophet. + +Such scenes that Eastern plant awakes; +But we have one ordained to beat it, +The Haschish of the West, which makes +Or fools or knaves of all who eat it. + +The preacher eats, and straight appears +His Bible in a new translation; +Its angels negro overseers, +And Heaven itself a snug plantation! + +The man of peace, about whose dreams +The sweet millennial angels cluster, +Tastes the mad weed, and plots and schemes, +A raving Cuban filibuster! + +The noisiest Democrat, with ease, +It turns to Slavery's parish beadle; +The shrewdest statesman eats and sees +Due southward point the polar needle. + +The Judge partakes, and sits erelong +Upon his bench a railing blackguard; +Decides off-hand that right is wrong, +And reads the ten commandments backward. + +O potent plant! so rare a taste +Has never Turk or Gentoo gotten; +The hempen Haschish of the East +Is powerless to our Western Cotton! +1854. + + + + +FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS' SAKE. + +Inscribed to friends under arrest for treason against the slave power. + +THE age is dull and mean. Men creep, +Not walk; with blood too pale and tame +To pay the debt they owe to shame; +Buy cheap, sell dear; eat, drink, and sleep +Down-pillowed, deaf to moaning want; +Pay tithes for soul-insurance; keep +Six days to Mammon, one to Cant. + +In such a time, give thanks to God, +That somewhat of the holy rage +With which the prophets in their age +On all its decent seemings trod, +Has set your feet upon the lie, +That man and ox and soul and clod +Are market stock to sell and buy! + +The hot words from your lips, my own, +To caution trained, might not repeat; +But if some tares among the wheat +Of generous thought and deed were sown, +No common wrong provoked your zeal; +The silken gauntlet that is thrown +In such a quarrel rings like steel. + +The brave old strife the fathers saw +For Freedom calls for men again +Like those who battled not in vain +For England's Charter, Alfred's law; +And right of speech and trial just +Wage in your name their ancient war +With venal courts and perjured trust. + +God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late, +They touch the shining hills of day; +The evil cannot brook delay, +The good can well afford to wait. +Give ermined knaves their hour of crime; +Ye have the future grand and great, +The safe appeal of Truth to Time! +1855. + + + + +THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. + +This poem and the three following were called out by the popular +movement of Free State men to occupy the territory of Kansas, and by the +use of the great democratic weapon--an over-powering majority--to settle +the conflict on that ground between Freedom and Slavery. The opponents +of the movement used another kind of weapon. + +WE cross the prairie as of old +The pilgrims crossed the sea, +To make the West, as they the East, +The homestead of the free! + +We go to rear a wall of men +On Freedom's southern line, +And plant beside the cotton-tree +The rugged Northern pine! + +We're flowing from our native hills +As our free rivers flow; +The blessing of our Mother-land +Is on us as we go. + +We go to plant her common schools, +On distant prairie swells, +And give the Sabbaths of the wild +The music of her bells. + +Upbearing, like the Ark of old, +The Bible in our van, +We go to test the truth of God +Against the fraud of man. + +No pause, nor rest, save where the streams +That feed the Kansas run, +Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon +Shall flout the setting sun. + +We'll tread the prairie as of old +Our fathers sailed the sea, +And make the West, as they the East, +The homestead of the free! +1854. + + + + +LETTER FROM A MISSIONARY OF THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL +CHURCH SOUTH, IN KANSAS, TO A DISTINGUISHED POLITICIAN. + +DOUGLAS MISSION, August, 1854, + +LAST week--the Lord be praised for all His mercies +To His unworthy servant!--I arrived +Safe at the Mission, via Westport; where +I tarried over night, to aid in forming +A Vigilance Committee, to send back, +In shirts of tar, and feather-doublets quilted +With forty stripes save one, all Yankee comers, +Uncircumcised and Gentile, aliens from +The Commonwealth of Israel, who despise +The prize of the high calling of the saints, +Who plant amidst this heathen wilderness +Pure gospel institutions, sanctified +By patriarchal use. The meeting opened +With prayer, as was most fitting. Half an hour, +Or thereaway, I groaned, and strove, and wrestled, +As Jacob did at Penuel, till the power +Fell on the people, and they cried 'Amen!' +"Glory to God!" and stamped and clapped their hands; +And the rough river boatmen wiped their eyes; +"Go it, old hoss!" they cried, and cursed the niggers-- +Fulfilling thus the word of prophecy, +"Cursed be Cannan." After prayer, the meeting +Chose a committee--good and pious men-- +A Presbyterian Elder, Baptist deacon, +A local preacher, three or four class-leaders, +Anxious inquirers, and renewed backsliders, +A score in all--to watch the river ferry, +(As they of old did watch the fords of Jordan,) +And cut off all whose Yankee tongues refuse +The Shibboleth of the Nebraska bill. +And then, in answer to repeated calls, +I gave a brief account of what I saw +In Washington; and truly many hearts +Rejoiced to know the President, and you +And all the Cabinet regularly hear +The gospel message of a Sunday morning, +Drinking with thirsty souls of the sincere +Milk of the Word. Glory! Amen, and Selah! + +Here, at the Mission, all things have gone well +The brother who, throughout my absence, acted +As overseer, assures me that the crops +Never were better. I have lost one negro, +A first-rate hand, but obstinate and sullen. +He ran away some time last spring, and hid +In the river timber. There my Indian converts +Found him, and treed and shot him. For the rest, +The heathens round about begin to feel +The influence of our pious ministrations +And works of love; and some of them already +Have purchased negroes, and are settling down +As sober Christians! Bless the Lord for this! +I know it will rejoice you. You, I hear, +Are on the eve of visiting Chicago, +To fight with the wild beasts of Ephesus, +Long John, and Dutch Free-Soilers. May your arm +Be clothed with strength, and on your tongue be found +The sweet oil of persuasion. So desires +Your brother and co-laborer. Amen! + +P.S. All's lost. Even while I write these lines, +The Yankee abolitionists are coming +Upon us like a flood--grim, stalwart men, +Each face set like a flint of Plymouth Rock +Against our institutions--staking out +Their farm lots on the wooded Wakarusa, +Or squatting by the mellow-bottomed Kansas; +The pioneers of mightier multitudes, +The small rain-patter, ere the thunder shower +Drowns the dry prairies. Hope from man is not. +Oh, for a quiet berth at Washington, +Snug naval chaplaincy, or clerkship, where +These rumors of free labor and free soil +Might never meet me more. Better to be +Door-keeper in the White House, than to dwell +Amidst these Yankee tents, that, whitening, show +On the green prairie like a fleet becalmed. +Methinks I hear a voice come up the river +From those far bayous, where the alligators +Mount guard around the camping filibusters +"Shake off the dust of Kansas. Turn to Cuba-- +(That golden orange just about to fall, +O'er-ripe, into the Democratic lap;) +Keep pace with Providence, or, as we say, +Manifest destiny. Go forth and follow +The message of our gospel, thither borne +Upon the point of Quitman's bowie-knife, +And the persuasive lips of Colt's revolvers. +There may'st thou, underneath thy vine and figtree, +Watch thy increase of sugar cane and negroes, +Calm as a patriarch in his eastern tent!" +Amen: So mote it be. So prays your friend. + + + + +BURIAL OF BARBER. + +Thomas Barber was shot December 6, 1855, near Lawrence, Kansas. + +BEAR him, comrades, to his grave; +Never over one more brave +Shall the prairie grasses weep, +In the ages yet to come, +When the millions in our room, +What we sow in tears, shall reap. + +Bear him up the icy hill, +With the Kansas, frozen still +As his noble heart, below, +And the land he came to till +With a freeman's thews and will, +And his poor hut roofed with snow. + +One more look of that dead face, +Of his murder's ghastly trace! +One more kiss, O widowed one +Lay your left hands on his brow, +Lift your right hands up, and vow +That his work shall yet be done. + +Patience, friends! The eye of God +Every path by Murder trod +Watches, lidless, day and night; +And the dead man in his shroud, +And his widow weeping loud, +And our hearts, are in His sight. + +Every deadly threat that swells +With the roar of gambling hells, +Every brutal jest and jeer, +Every wicked thought and plan +Of the cruel heart of man, +Though but whispered, He can hear! + +We in suffering, they in crime, +Wait the just award of time, +Wait the vengeance that is due; +Not in vain a heart shall break, +Not a tear for Freedom's sake +Fall unheeded: God is true. + +While the flag with stars bedecked +Threatens where it should protect, +And the Law shakes Hands with Crime, +What is left us but to wait, +Match our patience to our fate, +And abide the better time? + +Patience, friends! The human heart +Everywhere shall take our part, +Everywhere for us shall pray; +On our side are nature's laws, +And God's life is in the cause +That we suffer for to-day. + +Well to suffer is divine; +Pass the watchword down the line, +Pass the countersign: "Endure." +Not to him who rashly dares, +But to him who nobly bears, +Is the victor's garland sure. + +Frozen earth to frozen breast, +Lay our slain one down to rest; +Lay him down in hope and faith, +And above the broken sod, +Once again, to Freedom's God, +Pledge ourselves for life or death, + +That the State whose walls we lay, +In our blood and tears, to-day, +Shall be free from bonds of shame, +And our goodly land untrod +By the feet of Slavery, shod +With cursing as with flame! + +Plant the Buckeye on his grave, +For the hunter of the slave +In its shadow cannot rest; I +And let martyr mound and tree +Be our pledge and guaranty +Of the freedom of the West! +1856. + + + + +TO PENNSYLVANIA. +O STATE prayer-founded! never hung +Such choice upon a people's tongue, +Such power to bless or ban, +As that which makes thy whisper Fate, +For which on thee the centuries wait, +And destinies of man! + +Across thy Alleghanian chain, +With groanings from a land in pain, +The west-wind finds its way: +Wild-wailing from Missouri's flood +The crying of thy children's blood +Is in thy ears to-day! + +And unto thee in Freedom's hour +Of sorest need God gives the power +To ruin or to save; +To wound or heal, to blight or bless +With fertile field or wilderness, +A free home or a grave! + +Then let thy virtue match the crime, +Rise to a level with the time; +And, if a son of thine +Betray or tempt thee, Brutus-like +For Fatherland and Freedom strike +As Justice gives the sign. + +Wake, sleeper, from thy dream of ease, +The great occasion's forelock seize; +And let the north-wind strong, +And golden leaves of autumn, be +Thy coronal of Victory +And thy triumphal song. +10th me., 1856. + + + + +LE MARAIS DU CYGNE. + +The massacre of unarmed and unoffending men, in Southern Kansas, in May, +1858, took place near the Marais du Cygne of the French voyageurs. + +A BLUSH as of roses +Where rose never grew! +Great drops on the bunch-grass, +But not of the dew! +A taint in the sweet air +For wild bees to shun! +A stain that shall never +Bleach out in the sun. + +Back, steed of the prairies +Sweet song-bird, fly back! +Wheel hither, bald vulture! +Gray wolf, call thy pack! +The foul human vultures +Have feasted and fled; +The wolves of the Border +Have crept from the dead. + +From the hearths of their cabins, +The fields of their corn, +Unwarned and unweaponed, +The victims were torn,-- +By the whirlwind of murder +Swooped up and swept on +To the low, reedy fen-lands, +The Marsh of the Swan. + +With a vain plea for mercy +No stout knee was crooked; +In the mouths of the rifles +Right manly they looked. +How paled the May sunshine, +O Marais du Cygne! +On death for the strong life, +On red grass for green! + +In the homes of their rearing, +Yet warm with their lives, +Ye wait the dead only, +Poor children and wives! +Put out the red forge-fire, +The smith shall not come; +Unyoke the brown oxen, +The ploughman lies dumb. + +Wind slow from the Swan's Marsh, +O dreary death-train, +With pressed lips as bloodless +As lips of the slain! +Kiss down the young eyelids, +Smooth down the gray hairs; +Let tears quench the curses +That burn through your prayers. + +Strong man of the prairies, +Mourn bitter and wild! +Wail, desolate woman! +Weep, fatherless child! +But the grain of God springs up +From ashes beneath, +And the crown of his harvest +Is life out of death. + +Not in vain on the dial +The shade moves along, +To point the great contrasts +Of right and of wrong: +Free homes and free altars, +Free prairie and flood,-- +The reeds of the Swan's Marsh, +Whose bloom is of blood! + +On the lintels of Kansas +That blood shall not dry; +Henceforth the Bad Angel +Shall harmless go by; +Henceforth to the sunset, +Unchecked on her way, +Shall Liberty follow +The march of the day. + + + + +THE PASS OF THE SIERRA. + +ALL night above their rocky bed +They saw the stars march slow; +The wild Sierra overhead, +The desert's death below. + +The Indian from his lodge of bark, +The gray bear from his den, +Beyond their camp-fire's wall of dark, +Glared on the mountain men. + +Still upward turned, with anxious strain, +Their leader's sleepless eye, +Where splinters of the mountain chain +Stood black against the sky. + +The night waned slow: at last, a glow, +A gleam of sudden fire, +Shot up behind the walls of snow, +And tipped each icy spire. + +"Up, men!" he cried, "yon rocky cone, +To-day, please God, we'll pass, +And look from Winter's frozen throne +On Summer's flowers and grass!" + +They set their faces to the blast, +They trod the eternal snow, +And faint, worn, bleeding, hailed at last +The promised land below. + +Behind, they saw the snow-cloud tossed +By many an icy horn; +Before, warm valleys, wood-embossed, +And green with vines and corn. + +They left the Winter at their backs +To flap his baffled wing, +And downward, with the cataracts, +Leaped to the lap of Spring. + +Strong leader of that mountain band, +Another task remains, +To break from Slavery's desert land +A path to Freedom's plains. + +The winds are wild, the way is drear, +Yet, flashing through the night, +Lo! icy ridge and rocky spear +Blaze out in morning light! + +Rise up, Fremont! and go before; +The hour must have its Man; +Put on the hunting-shirt once more, +And lead in Freedom's van! +8th mo., 1856. + + + + +A SONG FOR THE TIME. + +Written in the summer of 1856, during the political campaign of the Free +Soil party under the candidacy of John C. Fremont. + +Up, laggards of Freedom!--our free flag is cast +To the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast; +Will ye turn from a struggle so bravely begun, +From a foe that is breaking, a field that's half won? + +Whoso loves not his kind, and who fears not the Lord, +Let him join that foe's service, accursed and abhorred +Let him do his base will, as the slave only can,-- +Let him put on the bloodhound, and put off the Man! + +Let him go where the cold blood that creeps in his veins +Shall stiffen the slave-whip, and rust on his chains; +Where the black slave shall laugh in his bonds, to behold +The White Slave beside him, self-fettered and sold! + +But ye, who still boast of hearts beating and warm, +Rise, from lake shore and ocean's, like waves in a storm, +Come, throng round our banner in Liberty's name, +Like winds from your mountains, like prairies aflame! + +Our foe, hidden long in his ambush of night, +Now, forced from his covert, stands black in the light. +Oh, the cruel to Man, and the hateful to God, +Smite him down to the earth, that is cursed where he trod! + +For deeper than thunder of summer's loud shower, +On the dome of the sky God is striking the hour! +Shall we falter before what we've prayed for so long, +When the Wrong is so weak, and the Right is so strong? + +Come forth all together! come old and come young, +Freedom's vote in each hand, and her song on each tongue; +Truth naked is stronger than Falsehood in mail; +The Wrong cannot prosper, the Right cannot fail. + +Like leaves of the summer once numbered the foe, +But the hoar-frost is falling, the northern winds blow; +Like leaves of November erelong shall they fall, +For earth wearies of them, and God's over all! + + + + +WHAT OF THE DAY? + +Written during the stirring weeks when the great political battle for +Freedom under Fremont's leadership was permitting strong hope of +success,--a hope overshadowed and solemnized by a sense of the magnitude +of the barbaric evil, and a forecast of the unscrupulous and desperate +use of all its powers in the last and decisive struggle. + +A SOUND of tumult troubles all the air, +Like the low thunders of a sultry sky +Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings glare; +The hills blaze red with warnings; foes draw nigh, +Treading the dark with challenge and reply. +Behold the burden of the prophet's vision; +The gathering hosts,--the Valley of Decision, +Dusk with the wings of eagles wheeling o'er. +Day of the Lord, of darkness and not light! +It breaks in thunder and the whirlwind's roar +Even so, Father! Let Thy will be done; +Turn and o'erturn, end what Thou bast begun +In judgment or in mercy: as for me, +If but the least and frailest, let me be +Evermore numbered with the truly free +Who find Thy service perfect liberty! +I fain would thank Thee that my mortal life +Has reached the hour (albeit through care and pain) +When Good and Evil, as for final strife, +Close dim and vast on Armageddon's plain; +And Michael and his angels once again +Drive howling back the Spirits of the Night. +Oh for the faith to read the signs aright +And, from the angle of Thy perfect sight, +See Truth's white banner floating on before; +And the Good Cause, despite of venal friends, +And base expedients, move to noble ends; +See Peace with Freedom make to Time amends, +And, through its cloud of dust, the threshing-floor, +Flailed by the thunder, heaped with chaffless grain +1856. + + + + +A SONG, INSCRIBED TO THE FREMONT CLUBS. +Written after the election in 1586, which showed the immense gains of +the Free Soil party, and insured its success in 1860. + +BENEATH thy skies, November! +Thy skies of cloud and rain, +Around our blazing camp-fires +We close our ranks again. +Then sound again the bugles, +Call the muster-roll anew; +If months have well-nigh won the field, +What may not four years do? + +For God be praised! New England +Takes once more her ancient place; +Again the Pilgrim's banner +Leads the vanguard of the race. +Then sound again the bugles, etc. + +Along the lordly Hudson, +A shout of triumph breaks; +The Empire State is speaking, +From the ocean to the lakes. +Then sound again the bugles, etc. + +The Northern hills are blazing, +The Northern skies are bright; +And the fair young West is turning +Her forehead to the light! +Then sound again the bugles, etc. + +Push every outpost nearer, +Press hard the hostile towers! +Another Balaklava, +And the Malakoff is ours! +Then sound again the bugles, +Call the muster-roll anew; +If months have well-nigh won the field, +What may not four years do? + + + + +THE PANORAMA. + +"A! fredome is a nobill thing! +Fredome mayse man to haif liking. +Fredome all solace to man giffis; +He levys at ese that frely levys +A nobil hart may haif nane ese +Na ellvs nocht that may him plese +Gyff Fredome failythe." +ARCHDEACON BARBOUR. + +THROUGH the long hall the shuttered windows shed +A dubious light on every upturned head; +On locks like those of Absalom the fair, +On the bald apex ringed with scanty hair, +On blank indifference and on curious stare; +On the pale Showman reading from his stage +The hieroglyphics of that facial page; +Half sad, half scornful, listening to the bruit +Of restless cane-tap and impatient foot, +And the shrill call, across the general din, +"Roll up your curtain! Let the show begin!" + +At length a murmur like the winds that break +Into green waves the prairie's grassy lake, +Deepened and swelled to music clear and loud, +And, as the west-wind lifts a summer cloud, +The curtain rose, disclosing wide and far +A green land stretching to the evening star, +Fair rivers, skirted by primeval trees +And flowers hummed over by the desert bees, +Marked by tall bluffs whose slopes of greenness show +Fantastic outcrops of the rock below; +The slow result of patient Nature's pains, +And plastic fingering of her sun and rains; +Arch, tower, and gate, grotesquely windowed hall, +And long escarpment of half-crumbled wall, +Huger than those which, from steep hills of vine, +Stare through their loopholes on the travelled Rhine; +Suggesting vaguely to the gazer's mind +A fancy, idle as the prairie wind, +Of the land's dwellers in an age unguessed; +The unsung Jotuns of the mystic West. + +Beyond, the prairie's sea-like swells surpass +The Tartar's marvels of his Land of Grass, +Vast as the sky against whose sunset shores +Wave after wave the billowy greenness pours; +And, onward still, like islands in that main +Loom the rough peaks of many a mountain chain, +Whence east and west a thousand waters run +From winter lingering under summer's sun. +And, still beyond, long lines of foam and sand +Tell where Pacific rolls his waves a-land, +From many a wide-lapped port and land-locked bay, +Opening with thunderous pomp the world's highway +To Indian isles of spice, and marts of far Cathay. + +"Such," said the Showman, as the curtain fell, +"Is the new Canaan of our Israel; +The land of promise to the swarming North, +Which, hive-like, sends its annual surplus forth, +To the poor Southron on his worn-out soil, +Scathed by the curses of unnatural toil; +To Europe's exiles seeking home and rest, +And the lank nomads of the wandering West, +Who, asking neither, in their love of change +And the free bison's amplitude of range, +Rear the log-hut, for present shelter meant, +Not future comfort, like an Arab's tent." + +Then spake a shrewd on-looker, "Sir," said he, +"I like your picture, but I fain would see +A sketch of what your promised land will be +When, with electric nerve, and fiery-brained, +With Nature's forces to its chariot chained, +The future grasping, by the past obeyed, +The twentieth century rounds a new decade." + +Then said the Showman, sadly: "He who grieves +Over the scattering of the sibyl's leaves +Unwisely mourns. Suffice it, that we know +What needs must ripen from the seed we sow; +That present time is but the mould wherein +We cast the shapes of holiness and sin. +A painful watcher of the passing hour, +Its lust of gold, its strife for place and power; +Its lack of manhood, honor, reverence, truth, +Wise-thoughted age, and generous-hearted youth; +Nor yet unmindful of each better sign, +The low, far lights, which on th' horizon shine, +Like those which sometimes tremble on the rim +Of clouded skies when day is closing dim, +Flashing athwart the purple spears of rain +The hope of sunshine on the hills again +I need no prophet's word, nor shapes that pass +Like clouding shadows o'er a magic glass; +For now, as ever, passionless and cold, +Doth the dread angel of the future hold +Evil and good before us, with no voice +Or warning look to guide us in our choice; +With spectral hands outreaching through the gloom +The shadowy contrasts of the coming doom. +Transferred from these, it now remains to give +The sun and shade of Fate's alternative." + +Then, with a burst of music, touching all +The keys of thrifty life,--the mill-stream's fall, +The engine's pant along its quivering rails, +The anvil's ring, the measured beat of flails, +The sweep of scythes, the reaper's whistled tune, +Answering the summons of the bells of noon, +The woodman's hail along the river shores, +The steamboat's signal, and the dip of oars +Slowly the curtain rose from off a land +Fair as God's garden. Broad on either hand +The golden wheat-fields glimmered in the sun, +And the tall maize its yellow tassels spun. +Smooth highways set with hedge-rows living green, +With steepled towns through shaded vistas seen, +The school-house murmuring with its hive-like swarm, +The brook-bank whitening in the grist-mill's storm, +The painted farm-house shining through the leaves +Of fruited orchards bending at its eaves, +Where live again, around the Western hearth, +The homely old-time virtues of the North; +Where the blithe housewife rises with the day, +And well-paid labor counts his task a play. +And, grateful tokens of a Bible free, +And the free Gospel of Humanity, +Of diverse-sects and differing names the shrines, +One in their faith, whate'er their outward signs, +Like varying strophes of the same sweet hymn +From many a prairie's swell and river's brim, +A thousand church-spires sanctify the air +Of the calm Sabbath, with their sign of prayer. + +Like sudden nightfall over bloom and green +The curtain dropped: and, momently, between +The clank of fetter and the crack of thong, +Half sob, half laughter, music swept along; +A strange refrain, whose idle words and low, +Like drunken mourners, kept the time of woe; +As if the revellers at a masquerade +Heard in the distance funeral marches played. +Such music, dashing all his smiles with tears, +The thoughtful voyager on Ponchartrain hears, +Where, through the noonday dusk of wooded shores +The negro boatman, singing to his oars, +With a wild pathos borrowed of his wrong +Redeems the jargon of his senseless song. +"Look," said the Showman, sternly, as he rolled +His curtain upward. "Fate's reverse behold!" + +A village straggling in loose disarray +Of vulgar newness, premature decay; +A tavern, crazy with its whiskey brawls, +With "Slaves at Auction!" garnishing its walls; +Without, surrounded by a motley crowd, +The shrewd-eyed salesman, garrulous and loud, +A squire or colonel in his pride of place, +Known at free fights, the caucus, and the race, +Prompt to proclaim his honor without blot, +And silence doubters with a ten-pace shot, +Mingling the negro-driving bully's rant +With pious phrase and democratic cant, +Yet never scrupling, with a filthy jest, +To sell the infant from its mother's breast, +Break through all ties of wedlock, home, and kin, +Yield shrinking girlhood up to graybeard sin; +Sell all the virtues with his human stock, +The Christian graces on his auction-block, +And coolly count on shrewdest bargains driven +In hearts regenerate, and in souls forgiven! + +Look once again! The moving canvas shows +A slave plantation's slovenly repose, +Where, in rude cabins rotting midst their weeds, +The human chattel eats, and sleeps, and breeds; +And, held a brute, in practice, as in law, +Becomes in fact the thing he's taken for. +There, early summoned to the hemp and corn, +The nursing mother leaves her child new-born; +There haggard sickness, weak and deathly faint, +Crawls to his task, and fears to make complaint; +And sad-eyed Rachels, childless in decay, +Weep for their lost ones sold and torn away! +Of ampler size the master's dwelling stands, +In shabby keeping with his half-tilled lands; +The gates unhinged, the yard with weeds unclean, +The cracked veranda with a tipsy lean. +Without, loose-scattered like a wreck adrift, +Signs of misrule and tokens of unthrift; +Within, profusion to discomfort joined, +The listless body and the vacant mind; +The fear, the hate, the theft and falsehood, born +In menial hearts of toil, and stripes, and scorn +There, all the vices, which, like birds obscene, +Batten on slavery loathsome and unclean, +From the foul kitchen to the parlor rise, +Pollute the nursery where the child-heir lies, +Taint infant lips beyond all after cure, +With the fell poison of a breast impure; +Touch boyhood's passions with the breath of flame, +From girlhood's instincts steal the blush of shame. +So swells, from low to high, from weak to strong, +The tragic chorus of the baleful wrong; +Guilty or guiltless, all within its range +Feel the blind justice of its sure revenge. + +Still scenes like these the moving chart reveals. +Up the long western steppes the blighting steals; +Down the Pacific slope the evil Fate +Glides like a shadow to the Golden Gate +From sea to sea the drear eclipse is thrown, +From sea to sea the Mauvaises Terres have grown, +A belt of curses on the New World's zone! + +The curtain fell. All drew a freer breath, +As men are wont to do when mournful death +Is covered from their sight. The Showman stood +With drooping brow in sorrow's attitude +One moment, then with sudden gesture shook +His loose hair back, and with the air and look +Of one who felt, beyond the narrow stage +And listening group, the presence of the age, +And heard the footsteps of the things to be, +Poured out his soul in earnest words and free. + +"O friends!" he said, "in this poor trick of paint +You see the semblance, incomplete and faint, +Of the two-fronted Future, which, to-day, +Stands dim and silent, waiting in your way. +To-day, your servant, subject to your will; +To-morrow, master, or for good or ill. +If the dark face of Slavery on you turns, +If the mad curse its paper barrier spurns, +If the world granary of the West is made +The last foul market of the slaver's trade, +Why rail at fate? The mischief is your own. +Why hate your neighbor? Blame yourselves +alone! + +"Men of the North! The South you charge with wrong +Is weak and poor, while you are rich and strong. +If questions,--idle and absurd as those +The old-time monks and Paduan doctors chose,-- +Mere ghosts of questions, tariffs, and dead banks, +And scarecrow pontiffs, never broke your ranks, +Your thews united could, at once, roll back +The jostled nation to its primal track. +Nay, were you simply steadfast, manly, just, +True to the faith your fathers left in trust, +If stainless honor outweighed in your scale +A codfish quintal or a factory bale, +Full many a noble heart, (and such remain +In all the South, like Lot in Siddim's plain, +Who watch and wait, and from the wrong's control +Keep white and pure their chastity of soul,) +Now sick to loathing of your weak complaints, +Your tricks as sinners, and your prayers as saints, +Would half-way meet the frankness of your tone, +And feel their pulses beating with your own. + +"The North! the South! no geographic line +Can fix the boundary or the point define, +Since each with each so closely interblends, +Where Slavery rises, and where Freedom ends. +Beneath your rocks the roots, far-reaching, hide +Of the fell Upas on the Southern side; +The tree whose branches in your northwinds wave +Dropped its young blossoms on Mount Vernon's grave; +The nursling growth of Monticello's crest +Is now the glory of the free Northwest; +To the wise maxims of her olden school +Virginia listened from thy lips, Rantoul; +Seward's words of power, and Sumner's fresh renown, +Flow from the pen that Jefferson laid down! +And when, at length, her years of madness o'er, +Like the crowned grazer on Euphrates' shore, +From her long lapse to savagery, her mouth +Bitter with baneful herbage, turns the South, +Resumes her old attire, and seeks to smooth +Her unkempt tresses at the glass of truth, +Her early faith shall find a tongue again, +New Wythes and Pinckneys swell that old refrain, +Her sons with yours renew the ancient pact, +The myth of Union prove at last a fact! +Then, if one murmur mars the wide content, +Some Northern lip will drawl the last dissent, +Some Union-saving patriot of your own +Lament to find his occupation gone. + +"Grant that the North 's insulted, scorned, betrayed, +O'erreached in bargains with her neighbor made, +When selfish thrift and party held the scales +For peddling dicker, not for honest sales,-- +Whom shall we strike? Who most deserves our blame? +The braggart Southron, open in his aim, +And bold as wicked, crashing straight through all +That bars his purpose, like a cannon-ball? +Or the mean traitor, breathing northern air, +With nasal speech and puritanic hair, +Whose cant the loss of principle survives, +As the mud-turtle e'en its head outlives; +Who, caught, chin-buried in some foul offence, +Puts on a look of injured innocence, +And consecrates his baseness to the cause +Of constitution, union, and the laws? + +"Praise to the place-man who can hold aloof +His still unpurchased manhood, office-proof; +Who on his round of duty walks erect, +And leaves it only rich in self-respect; +As More maintained his virtue's lofty port +In the Eighth Henry's base and bloody court. +But, if exceptions here and there are found, +Who tread thus safely on enchanted ground, +The normal type, the fitting symbol still +Of those who fatten at the public mill, +Is the chained dog beside his master's door, +Or Circe's victim, feeding on all four! + +"Give me the heroes who, at tuck of drum, +Salute thy staff, immortal Quattlebum! +Or they who, doubly armed with vote and gun, +Following thy lead, illustrious Atchison, +Their drunken franchise shift from scene to scene, +As tile-beard Jourdan did his guillotine! +Rather than him who, born beneath our skies, +To Slavery's hand its supplest tool supplies; +The party felon whose unblushing face +Looks from the pillory of his bribe of place, +And coolly makes a merit of disgrace, +Points to the footmarks of indignant scorn, +Shows the deep scars of satire's tossing horn; +And passes to his credit side the sum +Of all that makes a scoundrel's martyrdom! + +"Bane of the North, its canker and its moth! +These modern Esaus, bartering rights for broth! +Taxing our justice, with their double claim, +As fools for pity, and as knaves for blame; +Who, urged by party, sect, or trade, within +The fell embrace of Slavery's sphere of sin, +Part at the outset with their moral sense, +The watchful angel set for Truth's defence; +Confound all contrasts, good and ill; reverse +The poles of life, its blessing and its curse; +And lose thenceforth from their perverted sight +The eternal difference 'twixt the wrong and right; +To them the Law is but the iron span +That girds the ankles of imbruted man; +To them the Gospel has no higher aim +Than simple sanction of the master's claim, +Dragged in the slime of Slavery's loathsome trail, +Like Chalier's Bible at his ass's tail! + +"Such are the men who, with instinctive dread, +Whenever Freedom lifts her drooping head, +Make prophet-tripods of their office-stools, +And scare the nurseries and the village schools +With dire presage of ruin grim and great, +A broken Union and a foundered State! +Such are the patriots, self-bound to the stake +Of office, martyrs for their country's sake +Who fill themselves the hungry jaws of Fate; +And by their loss of manhood save the State. +In the wide gulf themselves like Cortius throw, +And test the virtues of cohesive dough; +As tropic monkeys, linking heads and tails, +Bridge o'er some torrent of Ecuador's vales! + +"Such are the men who in your churches rave +To swearing-point, at mention of the slave! +When some poor parson, haply unawares, +Stammers of freedom in his timid prayers; +Who, if some foot-sore negro through the town +Steals northward, volunteer to hunt him down. +Or, if some neighbor, flying from disease, +Courts the mild balsam of the Southern breeze, +With hue and cry pursue him on his track, +And write Free-soiler on the poor man's back. +Such are the men who leave the pedler's cart, +While faring South, to learn the driver's art, +Or, in white neckcloth, soothe with pious aim +The graceful sorrows of some languid dame, +Who, from the wreck of her bereavement, saves +The double charm of widowhood and slaves +Pliant and apt, they lose no chance to show +To what base depths apostasy can go; +Outdo the natives in their readiness +To roast a negro, or to mob a press; +Poise a tarred schoolmate on the lyncher's rail, +Or make a bonfire of their birthplace mail! + +"So some poor wretch, whose lips no longer bear +The sacred burden of his mother's prayer, +By fear impelled, or lust of gold enticed, +Turns to the Crescent from the Cross of Christ, +And, over-acting in superfluous zeal, +Crawls prostrate where the faithful only kneel, +Out-howls the Dervish, hugs his rags to court +The squalid Santon's sanctity of dirt; +And, when beneath the city gateway's span +Files slow and long the Meccan caravan, +And through its midst, pursued by Islam's prayers, +The prophet's Word some favored camel bears, +The marked apostate has his place assigned +The Koran-bearer's sacred rump behind, +With brush and pitcher following, grave and mute, +In meek attendance on the holy brute! + +"Men of the North! beneath your very eyes, +By hearth and home, your real danger lies. +Still day by day some hold of freedom falls +Through home-bred traitors fed within its walls. +Men whom yourselves with vote and purse sustain, +At posts of honor, influence, and gain; +The right of Slavery to your sons to teach, +And 'South-side' Gospels in your pulpits preach, +Transfix the Law to ancient freedom dear +On the sharp point of her subverted spear, +And imitate upon her cushion plump +The mad Missourian lynching from his stump; +Or, in your name, upon the Senate's floor +Yield up to Slavery all it asks, and more; +And, ere your dull eyes open to the cheat, +Sell your old homestead underneath your feet +While such as these your loftiest outlooks hold, +While truth and conscience with your wares are sold, +While grave-browed merchants band themselves to aid +An annual man-hunt for their Southern trade, +What moral power within your grasp remains +To stay the mischief on Nebraska's plains? +High as the tides of generous impulse flow, +As far rolls back the selfish undertow; +And all your brave resolves, though aimed as true +As the horse-pistol Balmawhapple drew, +To Slavery's bastions lend as slight a shock +As the poor trooper's shot to Stirling rock! + +"Yet, while the need of Freedom's cause demands +The earnest efforts of your hearts and hands, +Urged by all motives that can prompt the heart +To prayer and toil and manhood's manliest part; +Though to the soul's deep tocsin Nature joins +The warning whisper of her Orphic pines, +The north-wind's anger, and the south-wind's sigh, +The midnight sword-dance of the northern sky, +And, to the ear that bends above the sod +Of the green grave-mounds in the Fields of God, +In low, deep murmurs of rebuke or cheer, +The land's dead fathers speak their hope or fear, +Yet let not Passion wrest from Reason's hand +The guiding rein and symbol of command. +Blame not the caution proffering to your zeal +A well-meant drag upon its hurrying wheel; +Nor chide the man whose honest doubt extends +To the means only, not the righteous ends; +Nor fail to weigh the scruples and the fears +Of milder natures and serener years. +In the long strife with evil which began +With the first lapse of new-created man, +Wisely and well has Providence assigned +To each his part,--some forward, some behind; +And they, too, serve who temper and restrain +The o'erwarm heart that sets on fire the brain. +True to yourselves, feed Freedom's altar-flame +With what you have; let others do the same. + +"Spare timid doubters; set like flint your face +Against the self-sold knaves of gain and place +Pity the weak; but with unsparing hand +Cast out the traitors who infest the land; +From bar, press, pulpit, cast them everywhere, +By dint of fasting, if you fail by prayer. +And in their place bring men of antique mould, +Like the grave fathers of your Age of Gold; +Statesmen like those who sought the primal fount +Of righteous law, the Sermon on the Mount; +Lawyers who prize, like Quincy, (to our day +Still spared, Heaven bless him!) honor more than pay, +And Christian jurists, starry-pure, like Jay; +Preachers like Woolman, or like them who bore +The, faith of Wesley to our Western shore, +And held no convert genuine till he broke +Alike his servants' and the Devil's yoke; +And priests like him who Newport's market trod, +And o'er its slave-ships shook the bolts of God! +So shall your power, with a wise prudence used, +Strong but forbearing, firm but not abused, +In kindly keeping with the good of all, +The nobler maxims of the past recall, +Her natural home-born right to Freedom give, +And leave her foe his robber-right,--to live. +Live, as the snake does in his noisome fen! +Live, as the wolf does in his bone-strewn den! +Live, clothed with cursing like a robe of flame, +The focal point of million-fingered shame! +Live, till the Southron, who, with all his faults, +Has manly instincts, in his pride revolts, +Dashes from off him, midst the glad world's cheers, +The hideous nightmare of his dream of years, +And lifts, self-prompted, with his own right hand, +The vile encumbrance from his glorious land! + +"So, wheresoe'er our destiny sends forth +Its widening circles to the South or North, +Where'er our banner flaunts beneath the stars +Its mimic splendors and its cloudlike bars, +There shall Free Labor's hardy children stand +The equal sovereigns of a slaveless land. +And when at last the hunted bison tires, +And dies o'ertaken by the squatter's fires; +And westward, wave on wave, the living flood +Breaks on the snow-line of majestic Hood; +And lonely Shasta listening hears the tread +Of Europe's fair-haired children, Hesper-led; +And, gazing downward through his boar-locks, sees +The tawny Asian climb his giant knees, +The Eastern sea shall hush his waves to hear +Pacific's surf-beat answer Freedom's cheer, +And one long rolling fire of triumph run +Between the sunrise and the sunset gun!" + + . . . . . . . . . . + +My task is done. The Showman and his show, +Themselves but shadows, into shadows go; +And, if no song of idlesse I have sung. +Nor tints of beauty on the canvas flung; +If the harsh numbers grate on tender ears, +And the rough picture overwrought appears, +With deeper coloring, with a sterner blast, +Before my soul a voice and vision passed, +Such as might Milton's jarring trump require, +Or glooms of Dante fringed with lurid fire. +Oh, not of choice, for themes of public wrong +I leave the green and pleasant paths of song, +The mild, sweet words which soften and adorn, +For sharp rebuke and bitter laugh of scorn. +More dear to me some song of private worth, +Some homely idyl of my native North, +Some summer pastoral of her inland vales, +Or, grim and weird, her winter fireside tales +Haunted by ghosts of unreturning sails, +Lost barks at parting hung from stem to helm +With prayers of love like dreams on Virgil's elm. +Nor private grief nor malice holds my pen; +I owe but kindness to my fellow-men; +And, South or North, wherever hearts of prayer +Their woes and weakness to our Father bear, +Wherever fruits of Christian love are found +In holy lives, to me is holy ground. +But the time passes. It were vain to crave +A late indulgence. What I had I gave. +Forget the poet, but his warning heed, +And shame his poor word with your nobler deed. +1856. + + + + +ON A PRAYER-BOOK, + +WITH ITS FRONTISPIECE, ARY SCHEFFER'S "CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR," +AMERICANIZED BY THE OMISSION OF THE BLACK MAN. + +It is hardly to be credited, yet is true, that in the anxiety of the +Northern merchant to conciliate his Southern customer, a publisher was +found ready thus to mutilate Scheffer's picture. He intended his edition +for use in the Southern States undoubtedly, but copies fell into the +hands of those who believed literally in a gospel which was to preach +liberty to the captive. + +O ARY SCHEFFER! when beneath thine eye, +Touched with the light that cometh from above, +Grew the sweet picture of the dear Lord's love, +No dream hadst thou that Christian hands would tear +Therefrom the token of His equal care, +And make thy symbol of His truth a lie +The poor, dumb slave whose shackles fall away +In His compassionate gaze, grubbed smoothly out, +To mar no more the exercise devout +Of sleek oppression kneeling down to pray +Where the great oriel stains the Sabbath day! +Let whoso can before such praying-books +Kneel on his velvet cushion; I, for one, +Would sooner bow, a Parsee, to the sun, +Or tend a prayer-wheel in Thibetar brooks, +Or beat a drum on Yedo's temple-floor. +No falser idol man has bowed before, +In Indian groves or islands of the sea, +Than that which through the quaint-carved Gothic door +Looks forth,--a Church without humanity! +Patron of pride, and prejudice, and wrong,-- +The rich man's charm and fetich of the strong, +The Eternal Fulness meted, clipped, and shorn, +The seamless robe of equal mercy torn, +The dear Christ hidden from His kindred flesh, +And, in His poor ones, crucified afresh! +Better the simple Lama scattering wide, +Where sweeps the storm Alechan's steppes along, +His paper horses for the lost to ride, +And wearying Buddha with his prayers to make +The figures living for the traveller's sake, +Than he who hopes with cheap praise to beguile +The ear of God, dishonoring man the while; +Who dreams the pearl gate's hinges, rusty grown, +Are moved by flattery's oil of tongue alone; +That in the scale Eternal Justice bears +The generous deed weighs less than selfish prayers, +And words intoned with graceful unction move +The Eternal Goodness more than lives of truth and love. +Alas, the Church! The reverend head of Jay, +Enhaloed with its saintly silvered hair, +Adorns no more the places of her prayer; +And brave young Tyng, too early called away, +Troubles the Haman of her courts no more +Like the just Hebrew at the Assyrian's door; +And her sweet ritual, beautiful but dead +As the dry husk from which the grain is shed, +And holy hymns from which the life devout +Of saints and martyrs has wellnigh gone out, +Like candles dying in exhausted air, +For Sabbath use in measured grists are ground; +And, ever while the spiritual mill goes round, +Between the upper and the nether stones, +Unseen, unheard, the wretched bondman groans, +And urges his vain plea, prayer-smothered, anthem-drowned! + +O heart of mine, keep patience! Looking forth, +As from the Mount of Vision, I behold, +Pure, just, and free, the Church of Christ on earth; +The martyr's dream, the golden age foretold! +And found, at last, the mystic Graal I see, +Brimmed with His blessing, pass from lip to lip +In sacred pledge of human fellowship; +And over all the songs of angels hear; +Songs of the love that casteth out all fear; +Songs of the Gospel of Humanity! +Lo! in the midst, with the same look He wore, +Healing and blessing on Genesaret's shore, +Folding together, with the all-tender might +Of His great love, the dark bands and the white, +Stands the Consoler, soothing every pain, +Making all burdens light, and breaking every chain. +1859. + + + + +THE SUMMONS. + +MY ear is full of summer sounds, +Of summer sights my languid eye; +Beyond the dusty village bounds +I loiter in my daily rounds, +And in the noon-time shadows lie. + +I hear the wild bee wind his horn, +The bird swings on the ripened wheat, +The long green lances of the corn +Are tilting in the winds of morn, +The locust shrills his song of heat. + +Another sound my spirit hears, +A deeper sound that drowns them all; +A voice of pleading choked with tears, +The call of human hopes and fears, +The Macedonian cry to Paul! + +The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows; +I know the word and countersign; +Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes, +Where stand or fall her friends or foes, +I know the place that should be mine. + +Shamed be the hands that idly fold, +And lips that woo the reed's accord, +When laggard Time the hour has tolled +For true with false and new with old +To fight the battles of the Lord! + +O brothers! blest by partial Fate +With power to match the will and deed, +To him your summons comes too late +Who sinks beneath his armor's weight, +And has no answer but God-speed! +1860. + + + + +TO WILLIAM H. SEWARD. + +On the 12th of January, 1861, Mr. Seward delivered in the Senate chamber +a speech on The State of the Union, in which he urged the paramount duty +of preserving the Union, and went as far as it was possible to go, +without surrender of principles, in concessions to the Southern party, +concluding his argument with these words: "Having submitted my own +opinions on this great crisis, it remains only to say, that I shall +cheerfully lend to the government my best support in whatever prudent +yet energetic efforts it shall make to preserve the public peace, and to +maintain and preserve the Union; advising, only, that it practise, as +far as possible, the utmost moderation, forbearance, and conciliation. + +"This Union has not yet accomplished what good for mankind was manifestly +designed by Him who appoints the seasons and prescribes the duties of +states and empires. No; if it were cast down by faction to-day, it would +rise again and re-appear in all its majestic proportions to-morrow. It +is the only government that can stand here. Woe! woe! to the man that +madly lifts his hand against it. It shall continue and endure; and men, +in after times, shall declare that this generation, which saved the +Union from such sudden and unlooked-for dangers, surpassed in +magnanimity even that one which laid its foundations in the eternal +principles of liberty, justice, and humanity." + +STATESMAN, I thank thee! and, if yet dissent +Mingles, reluctant, with my large content, +I cannot censure what was nobly meant. +But, while constrained to hold even Union less +Than Liberty and Truth and Righteousness, +I thank thee in the sweet and holy name +Of peace, for wise calm words that put to shame +Passion and party. Courage may be shown +Not in defiance of the wrong alone; +He may be bravest who, unweaponed, bears +The olive branch, and, strong in justice, spares +The rash wrong-doer, giving widest scope, +To Christian charity and generous hope. +If, without damage to the sacred cause +Of Freedom and the safeguard of its laws-- +If, without yielding that for which alone +We prize the Union, thou canst save it now +From a baptism of blood, upon thy brow +A wreath whose flowers no earthly soil have known; +Woven of the beatitudes, shall rest, +And the peacemaker be forever blest! +1861. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS III. *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named 9577.txt or 9577.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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