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diff --git a/old/wit2110.txt b/old/wit2110.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6dc02f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/wit2110.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12934 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform, Complete +Volume III., The Works of Whittier: Anti-Slavery, Labor and Reform +#25 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, Labor and Reform, Complete + 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 #9580] +[This file was first posted on October 15, 2003] +[Last updated on February 9, 2007] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANTI-SLAVERY AND REFORM *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + VOLUME III. + + + ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS + + SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM + + + BY + + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + +CONTENTS: + + +ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS: + +TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON +TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE +THE SLAVE-SHIPS +EXPOSTULATION +HYMN: "THOU, WHOSE PRESENCE WENT BEFORE" +THE YANKEE GIRL +THE HUNTERS OF MEN +STANZAS FOR THE TIMES +CLERICAL OPPRESSORS +A SUMMONS +TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS +THE MORAL WARFARE +RITNER +THE PASTORAL LETTER +HYMN: "O HOLY FATHER! JUST AND TRUE" +THE FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER +PENNSYLVANIA HALL +THE NEW YEAR +THE RELIC +THE WORLD'S CONVENTION +MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA +THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE +THE SENTENCE OF JOHN L. BROWN +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 +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 +IN WAR TIME. + TO SAMUEL E. SEWALL AND HARRIET W. SEWALL + THY WILL BE DONE + A WORD FOR THE HOUR + "EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT" + TO JOHN C. FREMONT + THE WATCHERS + TO ENGLISHMEN + MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS + AT PORT ROYAL + ASTRAEA AT THE CAPITOL + THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 + OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C. + THE PROCLAMATION + ANNIVERSARY POEM + BARBARA FRIETCHIE + HAT THE BIRDS SAID + THE MANTLE OF ST. JOHN DE MATRA + LADS DEO! + HYMN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF EMANCIPATION + AT NEWBURYPORT + +AFTER THE WAR. + THE PEACE AUTUMN + TO THE THIRTY-NINTH CONGRESS + THE HIVE AT GETTYSBURG + HOWARD AT ATLANTA + THE EMANCIPATION GROUP + THE JUBILEE SINGERS + GARRISON + + + +SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM: + +THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME +DEMOCRACY +THE GALLOWS +SEED-TIME AND HARVEST +TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND +THE HUMAN SACRIFICE +SONGS OF LABOR + DEDICATION + THE SHOEMAKERS + THE FISHERMEN + THE LUMBERMEN + THE SHIP-BUILDERS + THE DROVERS + THE HUSKERS +THE REFORMER +THE PEACE CONVENTION AT BRUSSELS +THE PRISONER FOR DEBT +THE CHRISTIAN TOURISTS +THE MEN OF OLD +TO PIUS IX. +CALEF IN BOSTON +OUR STATE +THE PRISONERS OF NAPLES +THE PEACE OF EUROPE +ASTRAEA +THE DISENTHRALLED +THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY +THE DREAM OF PIO NONO +THE VOICES +THE NEW EXODUS +THE CONQUEST OF FINLAND +THE EVE OF ELECTION +FROM PERUGIA +ITALY +FREEDOM IN BRAZIL +AFTER ELECTION +DISARMAMENT +THE PROBLEM +OUR COUNTRY +ON THE BIG HORN + +NOTES + + + + +ANTI-SLAVERY POEMS + + .......... + +TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON + +CHAMPION of those who groan beneath +Oppression's iron hand +In view of penury, hate, and death, +I see thee fearless stand. +Still bearing up thy lofty brow, +In the steadfast strength of truth, +In manhood sealing well the vow +And promise of thy youth. + +Go on, for thou hast chosen well; +On in the strength of God! +Long as one human heart shall swell +Beneath the tyrant's rod. +Speak in a slumbering nation's ear, +As thou hast ever spoken, +Until the dead in sin shall hear, +The fetter's link be broken! + +I love thee with a brother's love, +I feel my pulses thrill, +To mark thy spirit soar above +The cloud of human ill. +My heart hath leaped to answer thine, +And echo back thy words, +As leaps the warrior's at the shine +And flash of kindred swords! + +They tell me thou art rash and vain, +A searcher after fame; +That thou art striving but to gain +A long-enduring name; +That thou hast nerved the Afric's hand +And steeled the Afric's heart, +To shake aloft his vengeful brand, +And rend his chain apart. + +Have I not known thee well, and read +Thy mighty purpose long? +And watched the trials which have made +Thy human spirit strong? +And shall the slanderer's demon breath +Avail with one like me, +To dim the sunshine of my faith +And earnest trust in thee? + +Go on, the dagger's point may glare +Amid thy pathway's gloom; +The fate which sternly threatens there +Is glorious martyrdom +Then onward with a martyr's zeal; +And wait thy sure reward +When man to man no more shall kneel, +And God alone be Lord! +1832. + + + + +TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. + +Toussaint L'Ouverture, the black chieftain of Hayti, was a slave on the +plantation "de Libertas," belonging to M. Bayou. When the rising of the +negroes took place, in 1791, Toussaint refused to join them until he had +aided M. Bayou and his family to escape to Baltimore. The white man had +discovered in Toussaint many noble qualities, and had instructed him in +some of the first branches of education; and the preservation of his +life was owing to the negro's gratitude for this kindness. In 1797, +Toussaint L'Ouverture was appointed, by the French government, +General-in-Chief of the armies of St. Domingo, and, as such, signed the +Convention with General Maitland for the evacuation of the island by the +British. From this period, until 1801, the island, under the government +of Toussaint, was happy, tranquil, and prosperous. The miserable +attempt of Napoleon to re-establish slavery in St. Domingo, although it +failed of its intended object, proved fatal to the negro chieftain. +Treacherously seized by Leclerc, he was hurried on board a vessel by +night, and conveyed to France, where he was confined in a cold +subterranean dungeon, at Besancon, where, in April, 1803, he died. The +treatment of Toussaint finds a parallel only in the murder of the Duke +D'Enghien. It was the remark of Godwin, in his Lectures, that the West +India Islands, since their first discovery by Columbus, could not boast +of a single name which deserves comparison with that of Toussaint +L'Ouverture. + +'T WAS night. The tranquil moonlight smile +With which Heaven dreams of Earth, shed down +Its beauty on the Indian isle,-- +On broad green field and white-walled town; +And inland waste of rock and wood, +In searching sunshine, wild and rude, +Rose, mellowed through the silver gleam, +Soft as the landscape of a dream. +All motionless and dewy wet, +Tree, vine, and flower in shadow met +The myrtle with its snowy bloom, +Crossing the nightshade's solemn gloom,-- +The white cecropia's silver rind +Relieved by deeper green behind, +The orange with its fruit of gold, +The lithe paullinia's verdant fold, +The passion-flower, with symbol holy, +Twining its tendrils long and lowly, +The rhexias dark, and cassia tall, +And proudly rising over all, +The kingly palm's imperial stem, +Crowned with its leafy diadem, +Star-like, beneath whose sombre shade, +The fiery-winged cucullo played! + +How lovely was thine aspect, then, +Fair island of the Western Sea +Lavish of beauty, even when +Thy brutes were happier than thy men, +For they, at least, were free! +Regardless of thy glorious clime, +Unmindful of thy soil of flowers, +The toiling negro sighed, that Time +No faster sped his hours. +For, by the dewy moonlight still, +He fed the weary-turning mill, +Or bent him in the chill morass, +To pluck the long and tangled grass, +And hear above his scar-worn back +The heavy slave-whip's frequent crack +While in his heart one evil thought +In solitary madness wrought, +One baleful fire surviving still +The quenching of the immortal mind, +One sterner passion of his kind, +Which even fetters could not kill, +The savage hope, to deal, erelong, +A vengeance bitterer than his wrong! + +Hark to that cry! long, loud, and shrill, +From field and forest, rock and hill, +Thrilling and horrible it rang, +Around, beneath, above; +The wild beast from his cavern sprang, +The wild bird from her grove! +Nor fear, nor joy, nor agony +Were mingled in that midnight cry; +But like the lion's growl of wrath, +When falls that hunter in his path +Whose barbed arrow, deeply set, +Is rankling in his bosom yet, +It told of hate, full, deep, and strong, +Of vengeance kindling out of wrong; +It was as if the crimes of years-- +The unrequited toil, the tears, +The shame and hate, which liken well +Earth's garden to the nether hell-- +Had found in nature's self a tongue, +On which the gathered horror hung; +As if from cliff, and stream, and glen +Burst on the' startled ears of men +That voice which rises unto God, +Solemn and stern,--the cry of blood! +It ceased, and all was still once more, +Save ocean chafing on his shore, +The sighing of the wind between +The broad banana's leaves of green, +Or bough by restless plumage shook, +Or murmuring voice of mountain brook. +Brief was the silence. Once again +Pealed to the skies that frantic yell, +Glowed on the heavens a fiery stain, +And flashes rose and fell; +And painted on the blood-red sky, +Dark, naked arms were tossed on high; +And, round the white man's lordly hall, +Trod, fierce and free, the brute he made; +And those who crept along the wall, +And answered to his lightest call +With more than spaniel dread, +The creatures of his lawless beck, +Were trampling on his very neck +And on the night-air, wild and clear, +Rose woman's shriek of more than fear; +For bloodied arms were round her thrown, +And dark cheeks pressed against her own! +Where then was he whose fiery zeal +Had taught the trampled heart to feel, +Until despair itself grew strong, +And vengeance fed its torch from wrong? +Now, when the thunderbolt is speeding; +Now, when oppression's heart is bleeding; +Now, when the latent curse of Time +Is raining down in fire and blood, +That curse which, through long years of crime, +Has gathered, drop by drop, its flood,-- +Why strikes he not, the foremost one, +Where murder's sternest deeds are done? + +He stood the aged palms beneath, +That shadowed o'er his humble door, +Listening, with half-suspended breath, +To the wild sounds of fear and death, +Toussaint L'Ouverture! +What marvel that his heart beat high! +The blow for freedom had been given, +And blood had answered to the cry +Which Earth sent up to Heaven! +What marvel that a fierce delight +Smiled grimly o'er his brow of night, +As groan and shout and bursting flame +Told where the midnight tempest came, +With blood and fire along its van, +And death behind! he was a Man! + +Yes, dark-souled chieftain! if the light +Of mild Religion's heavenly ray +Unveiled not to thy mental sight +The lowlier and the purer way, +In which the Holy Sufferer trod, +Meekly amidst the sons of crime; +That calm reliance upon God +For justice in His own good time; +That gentleness to which belongs +Forgiveness for its many wrongs, +Even as the primal martyr, kneeling +For mercy on the evil-dealing; +Let not the favored white man name +Thy stern appeal, with words of blame. +Then, injured Afric! for the shame +Of thy own daughters, vengeance came +Full on the scornful hearts of those, +Who mocked thee in thy nameless woes, +And to thy hapless children gave +One choice,--pollution or the grave! + +Has he not, with the light of heaven +Broadly around him, made the same? +Yea, on his thousand war-fields striven, +And gloried in his ghastly shame? +Kneeling amidst his brother's blood, +To offer mockery unto God, +As if the High and Holy One +Could smile on deeds of murder done! +As if a human sacrifice +Were purer in His holy eyes, +Though offered up by Christian hands, +Than the foul rites of Pagan lands! + + . . . . . . . . . . . + +Sternly, amidst his household band, +His carbine grasped within his hand, +The white man stood, prepared and still, +Waiting the shock of maddened men, +Unchained, and fierce as tigers, when +The horn winds through their caverned hill. +And one was weeping in his sight, +The sweetest flower of all the isle, +The bride who seemed but yesternight +Love's fair embodied smile. +And, clinging to her trembling knee, +Looked up the form of infancy, +With tearful glance in either face +The secret of its fear to trace. + +"Ha! stand or die!" The white man's eye +His steady musket gleamed along, +As a tall Negro hastened nigh, +With fearless step and strong. +"What, ho, Toussaint!" A moment more, +His shadow crossed the lighted floor. +"Away!" he shouted; "fly with me, +The white man's bark is on the sea; +Her sails must catch the seaward wind, +For sudden vengeance sweeps behind. +Our brethren from their graves have spoken, +The yoke is spurned, the chain is broken; +On all the bills our fires are glowing, +Through all the vales red blood is flowing +No more the mocking White shall rest +His foot upon the Negro's breast; +No more, at morn or eve, shall drip +The warm blood from the driver's whip +Yet, though Toussaint has vengeance sworn +For all the wrongs his race have borne, +Though for each drop of Negro blood +The white man's veins shall pour a flood; +Not all alone the sense of ill +Around his heart is lingering still, +Nor deeper can the white man feel +The generous warmth of grateful zeal. +Friends of the Negro! fly with me, +The path is open to the sea: +Away, for life!" He spoke, and pressed +The young child to his manly breast, +As, headlong, through the cracking cane, +Down swept the dark insurgent train, +Drunken and grim, with shout and yell +Howled through the dark, like sounds from hell. + +Far out, in peace, the white man's sail +Swayed free before the sunrise gale. +Cloud-like that island hung afar, +Along the bright horizon's verge, +O'er which the curse of servile war +Rolled its red torrent, surge on surge; +And he, the Negro champion, where +In the fierce tumult struggled he? +Go trace him by the fiery glare +Of dwellings in the midnight air, +The yells of triumph and despair, +The streams that crimson to the sea! + +Sleep calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, +Beneath Besancon's alien sky, +Dark Haytien! for the time shall come, +Yea, even now is nigh, +When, everywhere, thy name shall be +Redeemed from color's infamy; +And men shall learn to speak of thee +As one of earth's great spirits, born +In servitude, and nursed in scorn, +Casting aside the weary weight +And fetters of its low estate, +In that strong majesty of soul +Which knows no color, tongue, or clime, +Which still hath spurned the base control +Of tyrants through all time! +Far other hands than mine may wreathe +The laurel round thy brow of death, +And speak thy praise, as one whose word +A thousand fiery spirits stirred, +Who crushed his foeman as a worm, +Whose step on human hearts fell firm: + +Be mine the better task to find +A tribute for thy lofty mind, +Amidst whose gloomy vengeance shone +Some milder virtues all thine own, +Some gleams of feeling pure and warm, +Like sunshine on a sky of storm, +Proofs that the Negro's heart retains +Some nobleness amid its chains,-- +That kindness to the wronged is never +Without its excellent reward, +Holy to human-kind and ever +Acceptable to God. +1833. + + + + +THE SLAVE-SHIPS. + +"That fatal, that perfidious bark, +Built I' the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark." + MILTON'S Lycidas. + +"The French ship Le Rodeur, with a crew of twenty-two men, and with one +hundred and sixty negro slaves, sailed from Bonny, in Africa, April, +1819. On approaching the line, a terrible malady broke out,--an +obstinate disease of the eyes,--contagious, and altogether beyond the +resources of medicine. It was aggravated by the scarcity of water among +the slaves (only half a wine-glass per day being allowed to an +individual), and by the extreme impurity of the air in which they +breathed. By the advice of the physician, they were brought upon deck +occasionally; but some of the poor wretches, locking themselves in each +other's arms, leaped overboard, in the hope, which so universally +prevails among them, of being swiftly transported to their own homes in +Africa. To check this, the captain ordered several who were stopped in +the attempt to be shot, or hanged, before their companions. The disease +extended to the crew; and one after another were smitten with it, until +only one remained unaffected. Yet even this dreadful condition did not +preclude calculation: to save the expense of supporting slaves rendered +unsalable, and to obtain grounds for a claim against the underwriters, +thirty-six of the negroes, having become blind, were thrown into the sea +and drowned!" Speech of M. Benjamin Constant, in the French Chamber of +Deputies, June 17, 1820. + +In the midst of their dreadful fears lest the solitary individual, whose +sight remained unaffected, should also be seized with the malady, a sail +was discovered. It was the Spanish slaver, Leon. The same disease had +been there; and, horrible to tell, all the crew had become blind! Unable +to assist each other, the vessels parted. The Spanish ship has never +since been heard of. The Rodeur reached Guadaloupe on the 21st of June; +the only man who had escaped the disease, and had thus been enabled to +steer the slaver into port, caught it in three days after its arrival.-- +Bibliotheque Ophthalmologique for November, 1819. + +"ALL ready?" cried the captain; +"Ay, ay!" the seamen said; +"Heave up the worthless lubbers,-- +The dying and the dead." +Up from the slave-ship's prison +Fierce, bearded heads were thrust: +"Now let the sharks look to it,-- +Toss up the dead ones first!" + +Corpse after corpse came up, +Death had been busy there; +Where every blow is mercy, +Why should the spoiler spare? +Corpse after corpse they cast +Sullenly from the ship, +Yet bloody with the traces +Of fetter-link and whip. + +Gloomily stood the captain, +With his arms upon his breast, +With his cold brow sternly knotted, +And his iron lip compressed. + +"Are all the dead dogs over?" +Growled through that matted lip; +"The blind ones are no better, +Let's lighten the good ship." + +Hark! from the ship's dark bosom, +The very sounds of hell! +The ringing clank of iron, +The maniac's short, sharp yell! +The hoarse, low curse, throat-stifled; +The starving infant's moan, +The horror of a breaking heart +Poured through a mother's groan. + +Up from that loathsome prison +The stricken blind ones cane +Below, had all been darkness, +Above, was still the same. +Yet the holy breath of heaven +Was sweetly breathing there, +And the heated brow of fever +Cooled in the soft sea air. + +"Overboard with them, shipmates!" +Cutlass and dirk were plied; +Fettered and blind, one after one, +Plunged down the vessel's side. +The sabre smote above, +Beneath, the lean shark lay, +Waiting with wide and bloody jaw +His quick and human prey. + +God of the earth! what cries +Rang upward unto thee? +Voices of agony and blood, +From ship-deck and from sea. +The last dull plunge was heard, +The last wave caught its stain, +And the unsated shark looked up +For human hearts in vain. + + . . . . . . . . . . . . + +Red glowed the western waters, +The setting sun was there, +Scattering alike on wave and cloud +His fiery mesh of hair. +Amidst a group in blindness, +A solitary eye +Gazed, from the burdened slaver's deck, +Into that burning sky. + +"A storm," spoke out the gazer, +"Is gathering and at hand; +Curse on 't, I'd give my other eye +For one firm rood of land." +And then he laughed, but only +His echoed laugh replied, +For the blinded and the suffering +Alone were at his side. + +Night settled on the waters, +And on a stormy heaven, +While fiercely on that lone ship's track +The thunder-gust was driven. +"A sail!--thank God, a sail!" +And as the helmsman spoke, +Up through the stormy murmur +A shout of gladness broke. + + +Down came the stranger vessel, +Unheeding on her way, +So near that on the slaver's deck +Fell off her driven spray. +"Ho! for the love of mercy, +We're perishing and blind!" +A wail of utter agony +Came back upon the wind. + +"Help us! for we are stricken +With blindness every one; +Ten days we've floated fearfully, +Unnoting star or sun. +Our ship 's the slaver Leon,-- +We've but a score on board; +Our slaves are all gone over,-- +Help, for the love of God!" + +On livid brows of agony +The broad red lightning shone; +But the roar of wind and thunder +Stifled the answering groan; +Wailed from the broken waters +A last despairing cry, +As, kindling in the stormy' light, +The stranger ship went by. + + . . . . . . . . . + +In the sunny Guadaloupe +A dark-hulled vessel lay, +With a crew who noted never +The nightfall or the day. +The blossom of the orange +Was white by every stream, +And tropic leaf, and flower, and bird +Were in the warns sunbeam. + +And the sky was bright as ever, +And the moonlight slept as well, +On the palm-trees by the hillside, +And the streamlet of the dell: +And the glances of the Creole +Were still as archly deep, +And her smiles as full as ever +Of passion and of sleep. + +But vain were bird and blossom, +The green earth and the sky, +And the smile of human faces, +To the slaver's darkened eye; +At the breaking of the morning, +At the star-lit evening time, +O'er a world of light and beauty +Fell the blackness of his crime. +1834. + + + + +EXPOSTULATION. + +Dr. Charles Follen, a German patriot, who had come to America for the +freedom which was denied him in his native land, allied himself with the +abolitionists, and at a convention of delegates from all the anti- +slavery organizations in New England, held at Boston in May, 1834, was +chairman of a committee to prepare an address to the people of New +England. Toward the close of the address occurred the passage which +suggested these lines. "The despotism which our fathers could not bear +in their native country is expiring, and the sword of justice in her +reformed hands has applied its exterminating edge to slavery. Shall the +United States--the free United States, which could not bear the bonds of +a king--cradle the bondage which a king is abolishing? Shall a Republic +be less free than a Monarchy? Shall we, in the vigor and buoyancy of our +manhood, be less energetic in righteousness than a kingdom in its age?" +--Dr. Follen's Address. + +"Genius of America!--Spirit of our free institutions!--where art thou? +How art thou fallen, O Lucifer! son of the morning,--how art thou fallen +from Heaven! Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy +coming! The kings of the earth cry out to thee, Aha! Aha! Art thou +become like unto us?"--Speech of Samuel J. May. + +OUR fellow-countrymen in chains! +Slaves, in a land of light and law! +Slaves, crouching on the very plains +Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war! +A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood, +A. wail where Camden's martyrs fell, +By every shrine of patriot blood, +From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well! + +By storied hill and hallowed grot, +By mossy wood and marshy glen, +Whence rang of old the rifle-shot, +And hurrying shout of Marion's men! +The groan of breaking hearts is there, +The falling lash, the fetter's clank! +Slaves, slaves are breathing in that air +Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank! + +What, ho! our countrymen in chains! +The whip on woman's shrinking flesh! +Our soil yet reddening with the stains +Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh! +What! mothers from their children riven! +What! God's own image bought and sold! +Americans to market driven, +And bartered as the brute for gold! + +Speak! shall their agony of prayer +Come thrilling to our hearts in vain? +To us whose fathers scorned to bear +The paltry menace of a chain; +To us, whose boast is loud and long +Of holy Liberty and Light; +Say, shall these writhing slaves of Wrong +Plead vainly for their plundered Right? + +What! shall we send, with lavish breath, +Our sympathies across the wave, +Where Manhood, on the field of death, +Strikes for his freedom or a grave? +Shall prayers go up, and hymns be sung +For Greece, the Moslem fetter spurning, +And millions hail with pen and tongue +Our light on all her altars burning? + +Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France, +By Vendome's pile and Schoenbrun's wall, +And Poland, gasping on her lance, +The impulse of our cheering call? +And shall the slave, beneath our eye, +Clank o'er our fields his hateful chain? +And toss his fettered arms on high, +And groan for Freedom's gift, in vain? + +Oh, say, shall Prussia's banner be +A refuge for the stricken slave? +And shall the Russian serf go free +By Baikal's lake and Neva's wave? +And shall the wintry-bosomed Dane +Relax the iron hand of pride, +And bid his bondmen cast the chain +From fettered soul and limb aside? + +Shall every flap of England's flag +Proclaim that all around are free, +From farthest Ind to each blue crag +That beetles o'er the Western Sea? +And shall we scoff at Europe's kings, +When Freedom's fire is dim with us, +And round our country's altar clings +The damning shade of Slavery's curse? + +Go, let us ask of Constantine +To loose his grasp on Poland's throat; +And beg the lord of Mahmoud's line +To spare the struggling Suliote; +Will not the scorching answer come +From turbaned Turk, and scornful Russ +"Go, loose your fettered slaves at home, +Then turn, and ask the like of us!" + +Just God! and shall we calmly rest, +The Christian's scorn, the heathen's mirth, +Content to live the lingering jest +And by-word of a mocking Earth? +Shall our own glorious land retain +That curse which Europe scorns to bear? +Shall our own brethren drag the chain +Which not even Russia's menials wear? + +Up, then, in Freedom's manly part, +From graybeard eld to fiery youth, +And on the nation's naked heart +Scatter the living coals of Truth! +Up! while ye slumber, deeper yet +The shadow of our fame is growing! +Up! while ye pause, our sun may set +In blood, around our altars flowing! + +Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth, +The gathered wrath of God and man, +Like that which wasted Egypt's earth, +When hail and fire above it ran. +Hear ye no warnings in the air? +Feel ye no earthquake underneath? +Up, up! why will ye slumber where +The sleeper only wakes in death? + +Rise now for Freedom! not in strife +Like that your sterner fathers saw, +The awful waste of human life, +The glory and the guilt of war:' +But break the chain, the yoke remove, +And smite to earth Oppression's rod, +With those mild arms of Truth and Love, +Made mighty through the living God! + +Down let the shrine of Moloch sink, +And leave no traces where it stood; +Nor longer let its idol drink +His daily cup of human blood; +But rear another altar there, +To Truth and Love and Mercy given, +And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer, +Shall call an answer down from Heaven! +1834 + + + + +HYMN. + +Written for the meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society, at Chatham Street +Chapel, New York, held on the 4th of the seventh month, 1834. + + +O THOU, whose presence went before +Our fathers in their weary way, +As with Thy chosen moved of yore +The fire by night, the cloud by day! + +When from each temple of the free, +A nation's song ascends to Heaven, +Most Holy Father! unto Thee +May not our humble prayer be given? + +Thy children all, though hue and form +Are varied in Thine own good will, +With Thy own holy breathings warm, +And fashioned in Thine image still. + +We thank Thee, Father! hill and plain +Around us wave their fruits once more, +And clustered vine, and blossomed grain, +Are bending round each cottage door. + +And peace is here; and hope and love +Are round us as a mantle thrown, +And unto Thee, supreme above, +The knee of prayer is bowed alone. + +But oh, for those this day can bring, +As unto us, no joyful thrill; +For those who, under Freedom's wing, +Are bound in Slavery's fetters still: + +For those to whom Thy written word +Of light and love is never given; +For those whose ears have never heard +The promise and the hope of heaven! + +For broken heart, and clouded mind, +Whereon no human mercies fall; +Oh, be Thy gracious love inclined, +Who, as a Father, pitiest all! + +And grant, O Father! that the time +Of Earth's deliverance may be near, +When every land and tongue and clime +The message of Thy love shall hear; + +When, smitten as with fire from heaven, +The captive's chain shall sink in dust, +And to his fettered soul be given +The glorious freedom of the just, + + + + +THE YANKEE GIRL. + +SHE sings by her wheel at that low cottage-door, +Which the long evening shadow is stretching before, +With a music as sweet as the music which seems +Breathed softly and faint in the ear of our dreams! + +How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, +Like a star glancing out from the blue of the sky! +And lightly and freely her dark tresses play +O'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they! + +Who comes in his pride to that low cottage-door, +The haughty and rich to the humble and poor? +'T is the great Southern planter, the master who waves +His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves. + +"Nay, Ellen, for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin, +Who would pass for our slaves with a change of their skin; +Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel, +Too stupid for shame, and too vulgar to feel! + +"But thou art too lovely and precious a gem +To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them; +For shame, Ellen, shame, cast thy bondage aside, +And away to the South, as my blessing and pride. + +"Oh, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, +But where flowers are blossoming all the year long, +Where the shade of the palm-tree is over my home, +And the lemon and orange are white in their bloom! + +"Oh, come to my home, where my servants shall all +Depart at thy bidding and come at thy call; +They shall heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe, +And each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law." + +"Oh, could ye have seen her--that pride of our girls-- +Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, +With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, +And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel! + +"Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold +Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou halt sold; +Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear +The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear! + +"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours, +And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy' flowers; +But dearer the blast round our mountains which raves, +Than the sweet summer zephyr which breathes over slaves! + +"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel, +With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel; +Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be +In fetters with them, than in freedom with thee!" +1835. + + + + +THE HUNTERS OF MEN. + +These lines were written when the orators of the American Colonization +Society were demanding that the free blacks should be sent to Africa, +and opposing Emancipation unless expatriation followed. See the report +of the proceedings of the society at its annual meeting in 1834. + +HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen, +Through cane-brake and forest,--the hunting of men? +The lords of our land to this hunting have gone, +As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn; +Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip, +And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip! +All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match, +Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch. +So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen, +Through cane-brake and forest,--the hunting of men! + +Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride +In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride! +The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind, +Just screening the politic statesman behind; +The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer, +The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there. +And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid, +For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid +Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein, +How blithely she rides to the hunting of men! + +Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see, +In this "land of the brave and this home of the free." +Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine, +All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein; +Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin +Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin! +Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay +Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey? +Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when +All roughly they ride to the hunting of men? + +Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint, +Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint. +The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still, +Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill. +Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more +Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore +What right have they here in the home of the white, +Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right? +Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again +Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men! + +Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay, +When their pride and their glory are melting away? +The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own, +Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone? +The politic statesman looks back with a sigh, +There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye. +Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail, +And the head of his steed take the place of the tail. +Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then, +For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men? +1835. + + + + +STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. + +The "Times" referred to were those evil times of the pro-slavery meeting +in Faneuil Hall, August 21, 1835, in which a demand was made for the +suppression of free speech, lest it should endanger the foundation of +commercial society. + +Is this the land our fathers loved, +The freedom which they toiled to win? +Is this the soil whereon they moved? +Are these the graves they slumber in? +Are we the sons by whom are borne +The mantles which the dead have worn? + +And shall we crouch above these graves, +With craven soul and fettered lip? +Yoke in with marked and branded slaves, +And tremble at the driver's whip? +Bend to the earth our pliant knees, +And speak but as our masters please. + +Shall outraged Nature cease to feel? +Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow? +Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel, +The dungeon's gloom, the assassin's blow, +Turn back the spirit roused to save +The Truth, our Country, and the Slave? + +Of human skulls that shrine was made, +Round which the priests of Mexico +Before their loathsome idol prayed; +Is Freedom's altar fashioned so? +And must we yield to Freedom's God, +As offering meet, the negro's blood? + +Shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrought +Which well might shame extremest hell? +Shall freemen lock the indignant thought? +Shall Pity's bosom cease to swell? +Shall Honor bleed?--shall Truth succumb? +Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb? + +No; by each spot of haunted ground, +Where Freedom weeps her children's fall; +By Plymouth's rock, and Bunker's mound; +By Griswold's stained and shattered wall; +By Warren's ghost, by Langdon's shade; +By all the memories of our dead. + +By their enlarging souls, which burst +The bands and fetters round them set; +By the free Pilgrim spirit nursed +Within our inmost bosoms, yet, +By all above, around, below, +Be ours the indignant answer,--No! + +No; guided by our country's laws, +For truth, and right, and suffering man, +Be ours to strive in Freedom's cause, +As Christians may, as freemen can! +Still pouring on unwilling ears +That truth oppression only fears. + +What! shall we guard our neighbor still, +While woman shrieks beneath his rod, +And while he tramples down at will +The image of a common God? +Shall watch and ward be round him set, +Of Northern nerve and bayonet? + +And shall we know and share with him +The danger and the growing shame? +And see our Freedom's light grow dim, +Which should have filled the world with flame? +And, writhing, feel, where'er we turn, +A world's reproach around us burn? + +Is 't not enough that this is borne? +And asks our haughty neighbor more? +Must fetters which his slaves have worn +Clank round the Yankee farmer's door? +Must he be told, beside his plough, +What he must speak, and when, and how? + +Must he be told his freedom stands +On Slavery's dark foundations strong; +On breaking hearts and fettered hands, +On robbery, and crime, and wrong? +That all his fathers taught is vain,-- +That Freedom's emblem is the chain? + +Its life, its soul, from slavery drawn! +False, foul, profane! Go, teach as well +Of holy Truth from Falsehood born! +Of Heaven refreshed by airs from Hell! +Of Virtue in the arms of Vice! +Of Demons planting Paradise! + +Rail on, then, brethren of the South, +Ye shall not hear the truth the less; +No seal is on the Yankee's mouth, +No fetter on the Yankee's press! +From our Green Mountains to the sea, +One voice shall thunder, We are free! + + + + +CLERICAL OPPRESSORS. + +In the report of the celebrated pro-slavery meeting in Charleston, S.C., +on the 4th of the ninth month, 1835, published in the Courier of that +city, it is stated: "The clergy of all denominations attended in a body, +lending their sanction to the proceedings, and adding by their presence +to the impressive character of the scene!" + +JUST God! and these are they +Who minister at thine altar, God of Right! +Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay +On Israel's Ark of light! + +What! preach, and kidnap men? +Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor? +Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then +Bolt hard the captive's door? + +What! servants of thy own +Merciful Son, who came to seek and save +The homeless and the outcast, fettering down +The tasked and plundered slave! + +Pilate and Herod, friends! +Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine! +Just God and holy! is that church, which lends +Strength to the spoiler, thine? + +Paid hypocrites, who turn +Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book +Of those high words of truth which search and burn +In warning and rebuke; + +Feed fat, ye locusts, feed! +And, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord +That, from the toiling bondman's utter need, +Ye pile your own full board. + +How long, O Lord! how long +Shall such a priesthood barter truth away, +And in Thy name, for robbery and wrong +At Thy own altars pray? + +Is not Thy hand stretched forth +Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite? +Shall not the living God of all the earth, +And heaven above, do right? + +Woe, then, to all who grind +Their brethren of a common Father down! +To all who plunder from the immortal mind +Its bright and glorious crown! + +Woe to the priesthood! woe +To those whose hire is with the price of blood; +Perverting, darkening, changing, as they go, +The searching truths of God! + +Their glory and their might +Shall perish; and their very names shall be +Vile before all the people, in the light +Of a world's liberty. + +Oh, speed the moment on +When Wrong shall cease, and Liberty and Love +And Truth and Right throughout the earth be known +As in their home above. +1836. + + + + +A SUMMONS + +Written on the adoption of Pinckney's Resolutions in the House of +Representatives, and the passage of Calhoun's "Bill for excluding Papers +written or printed, touching the subject of Slavery, from the U. S. +Post-office," in the Senate of the United States. Mr. Pinckney's +resolutions were in brief that Congress had no authority to interfere in +any way with slavery in the States; that it ought not to interfere with +it in the District of Columbia, and that all resolutions to that end +should be laid on the table without printing. Mr. Calhoun's bill made it +a penal offence for post-masters in any State, District, or Territory +"knowingly to deliver, to any person whatever, any pamphlet, newspaper, +handbill, or other printed paper or pictorial representation, touching +the subject of slavery, where, by the laws of the said State, District, +or Territory, their circulation was prohibited." + +MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit +Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone? +Sons of old freemen, do we but inherit +Their names alone? + +Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenched within us, +Stoops the strong manhood of our souls so low, +That Mammon's lure or Party's wile can win us +To silence now? + +Now, when our land to ruin's brink is verging, +In God's name, let us speak while there is time! +Now, when the padlocks for our lips are forging, +Silence is crime! + +What! shall we henceforth humbly ask as favors +Rights all our own? In madness shall we barter, +For treacherous peace, the freedom Nature gave us, +God and our charter? + +Here shall the statesman forge his human fetters, +Here the false jurist human rights deny, +And in the church, their proud and skilled abettors +Make truth a lie? + +Torture the pages of the hallowed Bible, +To sanction crime, and robbery, and blood? +And, in Oppression's hateful service, libel +Both man and God? + +Shall our New England stand erect no longer, +But stoop in chains upon her downward way, +Thicker to gather on her limbs and stronger +Day after day? + +Oh no; methinks from all her wild, green mountains; +From valleys where her slumbering fathers lie; +From her blue rivers and her welling fountains, +And clear, cold sky; + +From her rough coast, and isles, which hungry Ocean +Gnaws with his surges; from the fisher's skiff, +With white sail swaying to the billows' motion +Round rock and cliff; + +From the free fireside of her untought farmer; +From her free laborer at his loom and wheel; +From the brown smith-shop, where, beneath the hammer, +Rings the red steel; + +From each and all, if God hath not forsaken +Our land, and left us to an evil choice, +Loud as the summer thunderbolt shall waken +A People's voice. + +Startling and stern! the Northern winds shall bear it +Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave; +And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it +Within her grave. + +Oh, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing +By Santee's wave, in Mississippi's cane, +Shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying, +Revive again. + +Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing +Sadly upon us from afar shall smile, +And unto God devout thanksgiving raising +Bless us the while. + +Oh for your ancient freedom, pure and holy, +For the deliverance of a groaning earth, +For the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, and lowly, +Let it go forth! + +Sons of the best of fathers! will ye falter +With all they left ye perilled and at stake? +Ho! once again on Freedom's holy altar +The fire awake. + +Prayer-strenthened for the trial, come together, +Put on the harness for the moral fight, +And, with the blessing of your Heavenly Father, +Maintain the right +1836. + + + + +TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS SHIPLEY. + +Thomas Shipley of Philadelphia was a lifelong Christian philanthropist, +and advocate of emancipation. At his funeral thousands of colored people +came to take their last look at their friend and protector. He died +September 17, 1836. + +GONE to thy Heavenly Father's rest! +The flowers of Eden round thee blowing, +And on thine ear the murmurs blest +Of Siloa's waters softly flowing! + +Beneath that Tree of Life which gives +To all the earth its healing leaves +In the white robe of angels clad, +And wandering by that sacred river, +Whose streams of holiness make glad +The city of our God forever! + +Gentlest of spirits! not for thee +Our tears are shed, our sighs are given; +Why mourn to know thou art a free +Partaker of the joys of heaven? +Finished thy work, and kept thy faith +In Christian firmness unto death; +And beautiful as sky and earth, +When autumn's sun is downward going, +The blessed memory of thy worth +Around thy place of slumber glowing! + +But woe for us! who linger still +With feebler strength and hearts less lowly, +And minds less steadfast to the will +Of Him whose every work is holy. +For not like thine, is crucified +The spirit of our human pride +And at the bondman's tale of woe, +And for the outcast and forsaken, +Not warm like thine, but cold and slow, +Our weaker sympathies awaken. + +Darkly upon our struggling way +The storm of human hate is sweeping; +Hunted and branded, and a prey, +Our watch amidst the darkness keeping, +Oh, for that hidden strength which can +Nerve unto death the inner man +Oh, for thy spirit, tried and true, +And constant in the hour of trial, +Prepared to suffer, or to do, +In meekness and in self-denial. + +Oh, for that spirit, meek and mild, +Derided, spurned, yet uncomplaining; +By man deserted and reviled, +Yet faithful to its trust remaining. +Still prompt and resolute to save +From scourge and chain the hunted slave; +Unwavering in the Truth's defence, +Even where the fires of Hate were burning, +The unquailing eye of innocence +Alone upon the oppressor turning! + +O loved of thousands! to thy grave, +Sorrowing of heart, thy brethren bore thee. +The poor man and the rescued slave +Wept as the broken earth closed o'er thee; +And grateful tears, like summer rain, +Quickened its dying grass again! +And there, as to some pilgrim-shrine, +Shall cone the outcast and the lowly, +Of gentle deeds and words of thine +Recalling memories sweet and holy! + +Oh, for the death the righteous die! +An end, like autumn's day declining, +On human hearts, as on the sky, +With holier, tenderer beauty shining; +As to the parting soul were given +The radiance of an opening heaven! +As if that pure and blessed light, +From off the Eternal altar flowing, +Were bathing, in its upward flight, +The spirit to its worship going! +1836. + + + + +THE MORAL WARFARE. + +WHEN Freedom, on her natal day, +Within her war-rocked cradle lay, +An iron race around her stood, +Baptized her infant brow in blood; +And, through the storm which round her swept, +Their constant ward and watching kept. + +Then, where our quiet herds repose, +The roar of baleful battle rose, +And brethren of a common tongue +To mortal strife as tigers sprung, +And every gift on Freedom's shrine +Was man for beast, and blood for wine! + +Our fathers to their graves have gone; +Their strife is past, their triumph won; +But sterner trials wait the race +Which rises in their honored place; +A moral warfare with the crime +And folly of an evil time. + +So let it be. In God's own might +We gird us for the coming fight, +And, strong in Him whose cause is ours +In conflict with unholy powers, +We grasp the weapons He has given,-- +The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven. +1836. + + + + +RITNER. + +Written on reading the Message of Governor Ritner, of Pennsylvania, +1836. The fact redounds to the credit and serves to perpetuate the +memory of the independent farmer and high-souled statesman, that he +alone of all the Governors of the Union in 1836 met the insulting +demands and menaces of the South in a manner becoming a freeman and +hater of Slavery, in his message to the Legislature of Pennsylvania. + +THANK God for the token! one lip is still free, +One spirit untrammelled, unbending one knee! +Like the oak of the mountain, deep-rooted and firm, +Erect, when the multitude bends to the storm; +When traitors to Freedom, and Honor, and God, +Are bowed at an Idol polluted with blood; +When the recreant North has forgotten her trust, +And the lip of her honor is low in the dust,-- +Thank God, that one arm from the shackle has broken! +Thank God, that one man as a freeman has spoken! + +O'er thy crags, Alleghany, a blast has been blown! +Down thy tide, Susquehanna, the murmur has gone! +To the land of the South, of the charter and chain, +Of Liberty sweetened with Slavery's pain; +Where the cant of Democracy dwells on the lips +Of the forgers of fetters, and wielders of whips! +Where "chivalric" honor means really no more +Than scourging of women, and robbing the poor! +Where the Moloch of Slavery sitteth on high, +And the words which he utters, are--Worship, or die! + +Right onward, oh, speed it! Wherever the blood +Of the wronged and the guiltless is crying to God; +Wherever a slave in his fetters is pining; +Wherever the lash of the driver is twining; +Wherever from kindred, torn rudely apart, +Comes the sorrowful wail of the broken of heart; +Wherever the shackles of tyranny bind, +In silence and darkness, the God-given mind; +There, God speed it onward! its truth will be felt, +The bonds shall be loosened, the iron shall melt. + +And oh, will the land where the free soul of Penn +Still lingers and breathes over mountain and glen; +Will the land where a Benezet's spirit went forth +To the peeled and the meted, and outcast of Earth; +Where the words of the Charter of Liberty first +From the soul of the sage and the patriot burst; +Where first for the wronged and the weak of their kind, +The Christian and statesman their efforts combined; +Will that land of the free and the good wear a chain? +Will the call to the rescue of Freedom be vain? + +No, Ritner! her "Friends" at thy warning shall stand +Erect for the truth, like their ancestral band; +Forgetting the feuds and the strife of past time, +Counting coldness injustice, and silence a crime; +Turning back front the cavil of creeds, to unite +Once again for the poor in defence of the Right; +Breasting calmly, but firmly, the full tide of Wrong, +Overwhelmed, but not borne on its surges along; +Unappalled by the danger, the shame, and the pain, +And counting each trial for Truth as their gain! + +And that bold-hearted yeomanry, honest and true, +Who, haters of fraud, give to labor its due; +Whose fathers, of old, sang in concert with thine, +On the banks of Swetara, the songs of the Rhine,-- +The German-born pilgrims, who first dared to brave +The scorn of the proud in the cause of the slave; +Will the sons of such men yield the lords of the South +One brow for the brand, for the padlock one mouth? +They cater to tyrants? They rivet the chain, +Which their fathers smote off, on the negro again? + +No, never! one voice, like the sound in the cloud, +When the roar of the storm waxes loud and more loud, +Wherever the foot of the freeman hath pressed +From the Delaware's marge to the Lake of the West, +On the South-going breezes shall deepen and grow +Till the land it sweeps over shall tremble below! +The voice of a people, uprisen, awake, +Pennsylvania's watchword, with Freedom at stake, +Thrilling up from each valley, flung down from each height, +"Our Country and Liberty! God for the Right!" + + + + +THE PASTORAL LETTER + +The General Association of Congregational ministers in Massachusetts met +at Brookfield, June 27, 1837, and issued a Pastoral Letter to the +churches under its care. The immediate occasion of it was the profound +sensation produced by the recent public lecture in Massachusetts by +Angelina and Sarah Grimke, two noble women from South Carolina, who bore +their testimony against slavery. The Letter demanded that "the perplexed +and agitating subjects which are now common amongst us... should not be +forced upon any church as matters for debate, at the hazard of +alienation and division," and called attention to the dangers now +seeming "to threaten the female character with widespread and permanent +injury." + +So, this is all,--the utmost reach +Of priestly power the mind to fetter! +When laymen think, when women preach, +A war of words, a "Pastoral Letter!" +Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes! +Was it thus with those, your predecessors, +Who sealed with racks, and fire, and ropes +Their loving-kindness to transgressors? + +A "Pastoral Letter," grave and dull; +Alas! in hoof and horns and features, +How different is your Brookfield bull +From him who bellows from St. Peter's +Your pastoral rights and powers from harm, +Think ye, can words alone preserve them? +Your wiser fathers taught the arm +And sword of temporal power to serve them. + +Oh, glorious days, when Church and State +Were wedded by your spiritual fathers! +And on submissive shoulders sat +Your Wilsons and your Cotton Mathers. +No vile "itinerant" then could mar +The beauty of your tranquil Zion, +But at his peril of the scar +Of hangman's whip and branding-iron. + +Then, wholesome laws relieved the Church +Of heretic and mischief-maker, +And priest and bailiff joined in search, +By turns, of Papist, witch, and Quaker +The stocks were at each church's door, +The gallows stood on Boston Common, +A Papist's ears the pillory bore,-- +The gallows-rope, a Quaker woman! + +Your fathers dealt not as ye deal +With "non-professing" frantic teachers; +They bored the tongue with red-hot steel, +And flayed the backs of "female preachers." +Old Hampton, had her fields a tongue, +And Salem's streets could tell their story, +Of fainting woman dragged along, +Gashed by the whip accursed and gory! + +And will ye ask me, why this taunt +Of memories sacred from the scorner? +And why with reckless hand I plant +A nettle on the graves ye honor? +Not to reproach New England's dead +This record from the past I summon, +Of manhood to the scaffold led, +And suffering and heroic woman. + +No, for yourselves alone, I turn +The pages of intolerance over, +That, in their spirit, dark and stern, +Ye haply may your own discover! +For, if ye claim the "pastoral right" +To silence Freedom's voice of warning, +And from your precincts shut the light +Of Freedom's day around ye dawning; + +If when an earthquake voice of power +And signs in earth and heaven are showing +That forth, in its appointed hour, +The Spirit of the Lord is going +And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light +On kindred, tongue, and people breaking, +Whose slumbering millions, at the sight, +In glory and in strength are waking! + +When for the sighing of the poor, +And for the needy, God bath risen, +And chains are breaking, and a door +Is opening for the souls in prison! +If then ye would, with puny hands, +Arrest the very work of Heaven, +And bind anew the evil bands +Which God's right arm of power hath riven; + +What marvel that, in many a mind, +Those darker deeds of bigot madness +Are closely with your own combined, +Yet "less in anger than in sadness"? +What marvel, if the people learn +To claim the right of free opinion? +What marvel, if at times they spurn +The ancient yoke of your dominion? + +A glorious remnant linger yet, +Whose lips are wet at Freedom's fountains, +The coming of whose welcome feet +Is beautiful upon our mountains! +Men, who the gospel tidings bring +Of Liberty and Love forever, +Whose joy is an abiding spring, +Whose peace is as a gentle river! + +But ye, who scorn the thrilling tale +Of Carolina's high-souled daughters, +Which echoes here the mournful wail +Of sorrow from Edisto's waters, +Close while ye may the public ear, +With malice vex, with slander wound them, +The pure and good shall throng to hear, +And tried and manly hearts surround them. + +Oh, ever may the power which led +Their way to such a fiery trial, +And strengthened womanhood to tread +The wine-press of such self-denial, +Be round them in an evil land, +With wisdom and with strength from Heaven, +With Miriam's voice, and Judith's hand, +And Deborah's song, for triumph given! + +And what are ye who strive with God +Against the ark of His salvation, +Moved by the breath of prayer abroad, +With blessings for a dying nation? +What, but the stubble and the hay +To perish, even as flax consuming, +With all that bars His glorious way, +Before the brightness of His coming? + +And thou, sad Angel, who so long +Hast waited for the glorious token, +That Earth from all her bonds of wrong +To liberty and light has broken,-- + +Angel of Freedom! soon to thee +The sounding trumpet shall be given, +And over Earth's full jubilee +Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven! +1837. + + + + +HYMN +As children of Thy gracious care, +We veil the eye, we bend the knee, +With broken words of praise and prayer, +Father and God, we come to Thee. + +For Thou hast heard, O God of Right, +The sighing of the island slave; +And stretched for him the arm of might, +Not shortened that it could not save. +The laborer sits beneath his vine, +The shackled soul and hand are free; +Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine! +Praise! for the blessing is of Thee! + +And oh, we feel Thy presence here, +Thy awful arm in judgment bare! +Thine eye bath seen the bondman's tear; +Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer. +Praise! for the pride of man is low, +The counsels of the wise are naught, +The fountains of repentance flow; +What hath our God in mercy wrought? + + +HYMN + +Written for the celebration of the third anniversary of British +emancipation at the Broadway Tabernacle, New York, first of August, +1837. + +O HOLY FATHER! just and true +Are all Thy works and words and ways, +And unto Thee alone are due +Thanksgiving and eternal praise! + +As children of Thy gracious care, +We veil the eye, we bend the knee, +With broken words of praise and prayer, +Father and God, we come to Thee. + +For Thou hast heard, O God of Right, +The sighing of the island slave; +And stretched for him the arm of might, +Not shortened that it could not save. +The laborer sits beneath his vine, +The shackled soul and hand are free; +Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine! +Praise! for the blessing is of Thee! + +And oh, we feel Thy presence here, +Thy awful arm in judgment bare! +Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear; +Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer. +Praise! for the pride of man is low, +The counsels of the wise are naught, +The fountains of repentance flow; +What hath our God in mercy wrought? + +Speed on Thy work, Lord God of Hosts +And when the bondman's chain is riven, +And swells from all our guilty coasts +The anthem of the free to Heaven, +Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led, +As with Thy cloud and fire before, +But unto Thee, in fear and dread, +Be praise and glory evermore. + + + + +THE FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO +HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE. + +GONE, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone. +Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, +Where the noisome insect stings, +Where the fever demon strews +Poison with the falling dews, +Where the sickly sunbeams glare +Through the hot and misty air; +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! + +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone. +There no mother's eye is near them, +There no mother's ear can hear them; +Never, when the torturing lash +Seams their back with many a gash, +Shall a mother's kindness bless them, +Or a mother's arms caress them. +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! + +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone. +Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, +From the fields at night they go, +Faint with toil, and racked with pain, +To their cheerless homes again, +There no brother's voice shall greet them; +There no father's welcome meet them. +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! + +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone. +From the tree whose shadow lay +On their childhood's place of play; +From the cool spring where they drank; +Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank; +From the solemn house of prayer, +And the holy counsels there; +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! + +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone; +Toiling through the weary day, +And at night the spoiler's prey. +Oh, that they had earlier died, +Sleeping calmly, side by side, +Where the tyrant's power is o'er, +And the fetter galls no more +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! + +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone. +By the holy love He beareth; +By the bruised reed He spareth; +Oh, may He, to whom alone +All their cruel wrongs are known, +Still their hope and refuge prove, +With a more than mother's love. +Gone, gone,--sold and gone, +To the rice-swamp dank and lone, +From Virginia's hills and waters; +Woe is me, my stolen daughters! +1838. + + + + +PENNSYLVANIA HALL. + +Read at the dedication of Pennsylvania Hall, Philadelphia, May 15, 1838. +The building was erected by an association of gentlemen, irrespective of +sect or party, "that the citizens of Philadelphia should possess a room +wherein the principles of Liberty, and Equality of Civil Rights, could +be freely discussed, and the evils of slavery fearlessly portrayed." On +the evening of the 17th it was burned by a mob, destroying the office of +the Pennsylvania Freeman, of which I was editor, and with it my books +and papers. + + +NOT with the splendors of the days of old, +The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold; +No weapons wrested from the fields of blood, +Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood, +And the proud eagles of his cohorts saw +A world, war-wasted, crouching to his law; + +Nor blazoned car, nor banners floating gay, +Like those which swept along the Appian Way, +When, to the welcome of imperial Rome, +The victor warrior came in triumph home, +And trumpet peal, and shoutings wild and high, +Stirred the blue quiet of the Italian sky; +But calm and grateful, prayerful and sincere, +As Christian freemen only, gathering here, +We dedicate our fair and lofty Hall, +Pillar and arch, entablature and wall, +As Virtue's shrine, as Liberty's abode, +Sacred to Freedom, and to Freedom's God +Far statelier Halls, 'neath brighter skies than these, +Stood darkly mirrored in the AEgean seas, +Pillar and shrine, and life-like statues seen, +Graceful and pure, the marble shafts between; +Where glorious Athens from her rocky hill +Saw Art and Beauty subject to her will; +And the chaste temple, and the classic grove, +The hall of sages, and the bowers of love, +Arch, fane, and column, graced the shores, and gave +Their shadows to the blue Saronic wave; +And statelier rose, on Tiber's winding side, +The Pantheon's dome, the Coliseum's pride, +The Capitol, whose arches backward flung +The deep, clear cadence of the Roman tongue, +Whence stern decrees, like words of fate, went forth +To the awed nations of a conquered earth, +Where the proud Caesars in their glory came, +And Brutus lightened from his lips of flame! +Yet in the porches of Athena's halls, +And in the shadow of her stately walls, +Lurked the sad bondman, and his tears of woe +Wet the cold marble with unheeded flow; +And fetters clanked beneath the silver dome +Of the proud Pantheon of imperious Rome. +Oh, not for hint, the chained and stricken slave, +By Tiber's shore, or blue AEgina's wave, +In the thronged forum, or the sages' seat, +The bold lip pleaded, and the warm heart beat; +No soul of sorrow melted at his pain, +No tear of pity rusted on his chain! + +But this fair Hall to Truth and Freedom given, +Pledged to the Right before all Earth and Heaven, +A free arena for the strife of mind, +To caste, or sect, or color unconfined, +Shall thrill with echoes such as ne'er of old +From Roman hall or Grecian temple rolled; +Thoughts shall find utterance such as never yet +The Propylea or the Forum met. +Beneath its roof no gladiator's strife +Shall win applauses with the waste of life; +No lordly lictor urge the barbarous game, +No wanton Lais glory in her shame. +But here the tear of sympathy shall flow, +As the ear listens to the tale of woe; +Here in stern judgment of the oppressor's wrong +Shall strong rebukings thrill on Freedom's tongue, +No partial justice hold th' unequal scale, +No pride of caste a brother's rights assail, +No tyrant's mandates echo from this wall, +Holy to Freedom and the Rights of All! +But a fair field, where mind may close with mind, +Free as the sunshine and the chainless wind; +Where the high trust is fixed on Truth alone, +And bonds and fetters from the soul are thrown; +Where wealth, and rank, and worldly pomp, and might, +Yield to the presence of the True and Right. + +And fitting is it that this Hall should stand +Where Pennsylvania's Founder led his band, +From thy blue waters, Delaware!--to press +The virgin verdure of the wilderness. +Here, where all Europe with amazement saw +The soul's high freedom trammelled by no law; +Here, where the fierce and warlike forest-men +Gathered, in peace, around the home of Penn, +Awed by the weapons Love alone had given +Drawn from the holy armory of Heaven; +Where Nature's voice against the bondman's wrong +First found an earnest and indignant tongue; +Where Lay's bold message to the proud was borne; +And Keith's rebuke, and Franklin's manly scorn! +Fitting it is that here, where Freedom first +From her fair feet shook off the Old World's dust, +Spread her white pinions to our Western blast, +And her free tresses to our sunshine cast, +One Hall should rise redeemed from Slavery's ban, +One Temple sacred to the Rights of Man! + +Oh! if the spirits of the parted come, +Visiting angels, to their olden home +If the dead fathers of the land look forth +From their fair dwellings, to the things of earth, +Is it a dream, that with their eyes of love, +They gaze now on us from the bowers above? +Lay's ardent soul, and Benezet the mild, +Steadfast in faith, yet gentle as a child, +Meek-hearted Woolman, and that brother-band, +The sorrowing exiles from their "Father land," +Leaving their homes in Krieshiem's bowers of vine, +And the blue beauty of their glorious Rhine, +To seek amidst our solemn depths of wood +Freedom from man, and holy peace with God; +Who first of all their testimonial gave +Against the oppressor, for the outcast slave, +Is it a dream that such as these look down, +And with their blessing our rejoicings crown? +Let us rejoice, that while the pulpit's door +Is barred against the pleaders for the poor; +While the Church, wrangling upon points of faith, +Forgets her bondmen suffering unto death; +While crafty Traffic and the lust of Gain +Unite to forge Oppression's triple chain, +One door is open, and one Temple free, +As a resting-place for hunted Liberty! +Where men may speak, unshackled and unawed, +High words of Truth, for Freedom and for God. +And when that truth its perfect work hath done, +And rich with blessings o'er our land hath gone; +When not a slave beneath his yoke shall pine, +From broad Potomac to the far Sabine +When unto angel lips at last is given +The silver trump of Jubilee in Heaven; +And from Virginia's plains, Kentucky's shades, +And through the dim Floridian everglades, +Rises, to meet that angel-trumpet's sound, +The voice of millions from their chains unbound; +Then, though this Hall be crumbling in decay, +Its strong walls blending with the common clay, +Yet, round the ruins of its strength shall stand +The best and noblest of a ransomed land-- +Pilgrims, like these who throng around the shrine +Of Mecca, or of holy Palestine! +A prouder glory shall that ruin own +Than that which lingers round the Parthenon. +Here shall the child of after years be taught +The works of Freedom which his fathers wrought; +Told of the trials of the present hour, +Our weary strife with prejudice and power; +How the high errand quickened woman's soul, +And touched her lip as with a living coal; +How Freedom's martyrs kept their lofty faith +True and unwavering, unto bonds and death; +The pencil's art shall sketch the ruined Hall, +The Muses' garland crown its aged wall, +And History's pen for after times record +Its consecration unto Freedom's God! + + + + +THE NEW YEAR. + +Addressed to the Patrons of the Pennsylvania Freeman. + +THE wave is breaking on the shore, +The echo fading from the chime +Again the shadow moveth o'er +The dial-plate of time! + +O seer-seen Angel! waiting now +With weary feet on sea and shore, +Impatient for the last dread vow +That time shall be no more! + +Once more across thy sleepless eye +The semblance of a smile has passed: +The year departing leaves more nigh +Time's fearfullest and last. + +Oh, in that dying year hath been +The sum of all since time began; +The birth and death, the joy and pain, +Of Nature and of Man. + +Spring, with her change of sun and shower, +And streams released from Winter's chain, +And bursting bud, and opening flower, +And greenly growing grain; + +And Summer's shade, and sunshine warm, +And rainbows o'er her hill-tops bowed, +And voices in her rising storm; +God speaking from His cloud! + +And Autumn's fruits and clustering sheaves, +And soft, warm days of golden light, +The glory of her forest leaves, +And harvest-moon at night; + +And Winter with her leafless grove, +And prisoned stream, and drifting snow, +The brilliance of her heaven above +And of her earth below; + +And man, in whom an angel's mind +With earth's low instincts finds abode, +The highest of the links which bind +Brute nature to her God; + +His infant eye bath seen the light, +His childhood's merriest laughter rung, +And active sports to manlier might +The nerves of boyhood strung! + +And quiet love, and passion's fires, +Have soothed or burned in manhood's breast, +And lofty aims and low desires +By turns disturbed his rest. + +The wailing of the newly-born +Has mingled with the funeral knell; +And o'er the dying's ear has gone +The merry marriage-bell. + +And Wealth has filled his halls with mirth, +While Want, in many a humble shed, +Toiled, shivering by her cheerless hearth, +The live-long night for bread. + +And worse than all, the human slave, +The sport of lust, and pride, and scorn! +Plucked off the crown his Maker gave, +His regal manhood gone! + +Oh, still, my country! o'er thy plains, +Blackened with slavery's blight and ban, +That human chattel drags his chains, +An uncreated man! + +And still, where'er to sun and breeze, +My country, is thy flag unrolled, +With scorn, the gazing stranger sees +A stain on every fold. + +Oh, tear the gorgeous emblem down! +It gathers scorn from every eye, +And despots smile and good men frown +Whene'er it passes by. + +Shame! shame! its starry splendors glow +Above the slaver's loathsome jail; +Its folds are ruffling even now +His crimson flag of sale. + +Still round our country's proudest hall +The trade in human flesh is driven, +And at each careless hammer-fall +A human heart is riven. + +And this, too, sanctioned by the men +Vested with power to shield the right, +And throw each vile and robber den +Wide open to the light. + +Yet, shame upon them! there they sit, +Men of the North, subdued and still; +Meek, pliant poltroons, only fit +To work a master's will. + +Sold, bargained off for Southern votes, +A passive herd of Northern mules, +Just braying through their purchased throats +Whate'er their owner rules. + +And he, [2] the basest of the base, +The vilest of the vile, whose name, +Embalmed in infinite disgrace, +Is deathless in its shame! + +A tool, to bolt the people's door +Against the people clamoring there, +An ass, to trample on their floor +A people's right of prayer! + +Nailed to his self-made gibbet fast, +Self-pilloried to the public view, +A mark for every passing blast +Of scorn to whistle through; + +There let him hang, and hear the boast +Of Southrons o'er their pliant tool,-- +A new Stylites on his post, +"Sacred to ridicule!" + +Look we at home! our noble hall, +To Freedom's holy purpose given, +Now rears its black and ruined wall, +Beneath the wintry heaven, + +Telling the story of its doom, +The fiendish mob, the prostrate law, +The fiery jet through midnight's gloom, +Our gazing thousands saw. + +Look to our State! the poor man's right +Torn from him: and the sons of those +Whose blood in Freedom's sternest fight +Sprinkled the Jersey snows, + +Outlawed within the land of Penn, +That Slavery's guilty fears might cease, +And those whom God created men +Toil on as brutes in peace. + +Yet o'er the blackness of the storm +A bow of promise bends on high, +And gleams of sunshine, soft and warm, +Break through our clouded sky. + +East, West, and North, the shout is heard, +Of freemen rising for the right +Each valley hath its rallying word, +Each hill its signal light. + +O'er Massachusetts' rocks of gray, +The strengthening light of freedom shines, +Rhode Island's Narragansett Bay, +And Vermont's snow-hung pines! + +From Hudson's frowning palisades +To Alleghany's laurelled crest, +O'er lakes and prairies, streams and glades, +It shines upon the West. + +Speed on the light to those who dwell +In Slavery's land of woe and sin, +And through the blackness of that bell, +Let Heaven's own light break in. + +So shall the Southern conscience quake +Before that light poured full and strong, +So shall the Southern heart awake +To all the bondman's wrong. + +And from that rich and sunny land +The song of grateful millions rise, +Like that of Israel's ransomed band +Beneath Arabia's skies: + +And all who now are bound beneath +Our banner's shade, our eagle's wing, +From Slavery's night of moral death +To light and life shall spring. + +Broken the bondman's chain, and gone +The master's guilt, and hate, and fear, +And unto both alike shall dawn +A New and Happy Year. +1839. + + + + +THE RELIC. +Written on receiving a cane wrought from a fragment of the wood-work +of Pennsylvania Hall which the fire had spared. + +TOKEN of friendship true and tried, +From one whose fiery heart of youth +With mine has beaten, side by side, +For Liberty and Truth; +With honest pride the gift I take, +And prize it for the giver's sake. + +But not alone because it tells +Of generous hand and heart sincere; +Around that gift of friendship dwells +A memory doubly dear; +Earth's noblest aim, man's holiest thought, +With that memorial frail in wrought! + +Pure thoughts and sweet like flowers unfold, +And precious memories round it cling, +Even as the Prophet's rod of old +In beauty blossoming: +And buds of feeling, pure and good, +Spring from its cold unconscious wood. + +Relic of Freedom's shrine! a brand +Plucked from its burning! let it be +Dear as a jewel from the hand +Of a lost friend to me! +Flower of a perished garland left, +Of life and beauty unbereft! + +Oh, if the young enthusiast bears, +O'er weary waste and sea, the stone +Which crumbled from the Forum's stairs, +Or round the Parthenon; +Or olive-bough from some wild tree +Hung over old Thermopylae: + +If leaflets from some hero's tomb, +Or moss-wreath torn from ruins hoary; +Or faded flowers whose sisters bloom +On fields renowned in story; +Or fragment from the Alhambra's crest, +Or the gray rock by Druids blessed; + +Sad Erin's shamrock greenly growing +Where Freedom led her stalwart kern, +Or Scotia's "rough bur thistle" blowing +On Bruce's Bannockburn; +Or Runnymede's wild English rose, +Or lichen plucked from Sempach's snows! + +If it be true that things like these +To heart and eye bright visions bring, +Shall not far holier memories +To this memorial cling +Which needs no mellowing mist of time +To hide the crimson stains of crime! + +Wreck of a temple, unprofaned; +Of courts where Peace with Freedom trod, +Lifting on high, with hands unstained, +Thanksgiving unto God; +Where Mercy's voice of love was pleading +For human hearts in bondage bleeding; + +Where, midst the sound of rushing feet +And curses on the night-air flung, +That pleading voice rose calm and sweet +From woman's earnest tongue; +And Riot turned his scowling glance, +Awed, from her tranquil countenance! + +That temple now in ruin lies! +The fire-stain on its shattered wall, +And open to the changing skies +Its black and roofless hall, +It stands before a nation's sight, +A gravestone over buried Right! + +But from that ruin, as of old, +The fire-scorched stones themselves are crying, +And from their ashes white and cold +Its timbers are replying! +A voice which slavery cannot kill +Speaks from the crumbling arches still! + +And even this relic from thy shrine, +O holy Freedom! Hath to me +A potent power, a voice and sign +To testify of thee; +And, grasping it, methinks I feel +A deeper faith, a stronger zeal. + +And not unlike that mystic rod, +Of old stretched o'er the Egyptian wave, +Which opened, in the strength of God, +A pathway for the slave, +It yet may point the bondman's way, +And turn the spoiler from his prey. +1839. + + + + +THE WORLD'S CONVENTION + +OF THE FRIENDS OF EMANCIPATION, +HELD IN LONDON IN 1840. + +Joseph Sturge, the founder of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery +Society, proposed the calling of a world's anti-slavery convention, and +the proposal was promptly seconded by the American Anti-Slavery Society. +The call was addressed to "friends of the slave of every nation and of +every clime." + +YES, let them gather! Summon forth +The pledged philanthropy of Earth. +From every land, whose hills have heard +The bugle blast of Freedom waking; +Or shrieking of her symbol-bird +From out his cloudy eyrie breaking +Where Justice hath one worshipper, +Or truth one altar built to her; + +Where'er a human eye is weeping +O'er wrongs which Earth's sad children know; +Where'er a single heart is keeping +Its prayerful watch with human woe +Thence let them come, and greet each other, +And know in each a friend and brother! + +Yes, let them come! from each green vale +Where England's old baronial halls +Still bear upon their storied walls +The grim crusader's rusted mail, +Battered by Paynim spear and brand +On Malta's rock or Syria's sand! +And mouldering pennon-staves once set +Within the soil of Palestine, +By Jordan and Gennesaret; +Or, borne with England's battle line, +O'er Acre's shattered turrets stooping, +Or, midst the camp their banners drooping, +With dews from hallowed Hermon wet, +A holier summons now is given +Than that gray hermit's voice of old, +Which unto all the winds of heaven +The banners of the Cross unrolled! +Not for the long-deserted shrine; +Not for the dull unconscious sod, +Which tells not by one lingering sign +That there the hope of Israel trod; +But for that truth, for which alone +In pilgrim eyes are sanctified +The garden moss, the mountain stone, +Whereon His holy sandals pressed,-- +The fountain which His lip hath blessed,-- + +Whate'er hath touched His garment's hem +At Bethany or Bethlehem, +Or Jordan's river-side. +For Freedom in the name of Him +Who came to raise Earth's drooping poor, +To break the chain from every limb, +The bolt from every prison door! +For these, o'er all the earth hath passed +An ever-deepening trumpet blast, +As if an angel's breath had lent +Its vigor to the instrument. + +And Wales, from Snowden's mountain wall, +Shall startle at that thrilling call, +As if she heard her bards again; +And Erin's "harp on Tara's wall" +Give out its ancient strain, +Mirthful and sweet, yet sad withal,-- +The melody which Erin loves, +When o'er that harp, 'mid bursts of gladness +And slogan cries and lyke-wake sadness, +The hand of her O'Connell moves! +Scotland, from lake and tarn and rill, +And mountain hold, and heathery bill, +Shall catch and echo back the note, +As if she heard upon the air +Once more her Cameronian's prayer +And song of Freedom float. +And cheering echoes shall reply +From each remote dependency, +Where Britain's mighty sway is known, +In tropic sea or frozen zone; +Where'er her sunset flag is furling, +Or morning gun-fire's smoke is curling; +From Indian Bengal's groves of palm +And rosy fields and gales of balm, +Where Eastern pomp and power are rolled +Through regal Ava's gates of gold; +And from the lakes and ancient woods +And dim Canadian solitudes, +Whence, sternly from her rocky throne, +Queen of the North, Quebec looks down; +And from those bright and ransomed Isles +Where all unwonted Freedom smiles, +And the dark laborer still retains +The scar of slavery's broken chains! + +From the hoar Alps, which sentinel +The gateways of the land of Tell, +Where morning's keen and earliest glance +On Jura's rocky wall is thrown, +And from the olive bowers of France +And vine groves garlanding the Rhone,-- +"Friends of the Blacks," as true and tried +As those who stood by Oge's side, +And heard the Haytien's tale of wrong, +Shall gather at that summons strong; +Broglie, Passy, and he whose song +Breathed over Syria's holy sod, +And, in the paths which Jesus trod, +And murmured midst the hills which hem +Crownless and sad Jerusalem, +Hath echoes whereso'er the tone +Of Israel's prophet-lyre is known. + +Still let them come; from Quito's walls, +And from the Orinoco's tide, +From Lima's Inca-haunted halls, +From Santa Fe and Yucatan,-- +Men who by swart Guerrero's side +Proclaimed the deathless rights of man, +Broke every bond and fetter off, +And hailed in every sable serf +A free and brother Mexican! +Chiefs who across the Andes' chain +Have followed Freedom's flowing pennon, +And seen on Junin's fearful plain, +Glare o'er the broken ranks of Spain +The fire-burst of Bolivar's cannon! +And Hayti, from her mountain land, +Shall send the sons of those who hurled +Defiance from her blazing strand, +The war-gage from her Petion's hand, +Alone against a hostile world. + +Nor all unmindful, thou, the while, +Land of the dark and mystic Nile! +Thy Moslem mercy yet may shame +All tyrants of a Christian name, +When in the shade of Gizeh's pile, +Or, where, from Abyssinian hills +El Gerek's upper fountain fills, +Or where from Mountains of the Moon +El Abiad bears his watery boon, +Where'er thy lotus blossoms swim +Within their ancient hallowed waters; +Where'er is beard the Coptic hymn, +Or song of Nubia's sable daughters; +The curse of slavery and the crime, +Thy bequest from remotest time, +At thy dark Mehemet's decree +Forevermore shall pass from thee; +And chains forsake each captive's limb +Of all those tribes, whose hills around +Have echoed back the cymbal sound +And victor horn of Ibrahim. + +And thou whose glory and whose crime +To earth's remotest bound and clime, +In mingled tones of awe and scorn, +The echoes of a world have borne, +My country! glorious at thy birth, +A day-star flashing brightly forth, +The herald-sign of Freedom's dawn! +Oh, who could dream that saw thee then, +And watched thy rising from afar, +That vapors from oppression's fen +Would cloud the upward tending star? +Or, that earth's tyrant powers, which heard, +Awe-struck, the shout which hailed thy dawning, +Would rise so soon, prince, peer, and king, +To mock thee with their welcoming, +Like Hades when her thrones were stirred +To greet the down-cast Star of Morning! +"Aha! and art thou fallen thus? +Art thou become as one of us?" + +Land of my fathers! there will stand, +Amidst that world-assembled band, +Those owning thy maternal claim +Unweakened by thy, crime and shame; +The sad reprovers of thy wrong; +The children thou hast spurned so long. + +Still with affection's fondest yearning +To their unnatural mother turning. +No traitors they! but tried and leal, +Whose own is but thy general weal, +Still blending with the patriot's zeal +The Christian's love for human kind, +To caste and climate unconfined. + +A holy gathering! peaceful all +No threat of war, no savage call +For vengeance on an erring brother! +But in their stead the godlike plan +To teach the brotherhood of man +To love and reverence one another, +As sharers of a common blood, +The children of a common God +Yet, even at its lightest word, +Shall Slavery's darkest depths be stirred: +Spain, watching from her Moro's keep +Her slave-ships traversing the deep, +And Rio, in her strength and pride, +Lifting, along her mountain-side, +Her snowy battlements and towers, +Her lemon-groves and tropic bowers, +With bitter hate and sullen fear +Its freedom-giving voice shall hear; +And where my country's flag is flowing, +On breezes from Mount Vernon blowing, +Above the Nation's council halls, +Where Freedom's praise is loud and long, +While close beneath the outward walls +The driver plies his reeking thong; +The hammer of the man-thief falls, +O'er hypocritic cheek and brow +The crimson flush of shame shall glow +And all who for their native land +Are pledging life and heart and hand, +Worn watchers o'er her changing weal, +Who fog her tarnished honor feel, +Through cottage door and council-hall +Shall thunder an awakening call. +The pen along its page shall burn +With all intolerable scorn; +An eloquent rebuke shall go +On all the winds that Southward blow; +From priestly lips, now sealed and dumb, +Warning and dread appeal shall come, +Like those which Israel heard from him, +The Prophet of the Cherubim; +Or those which sad Esaias hurled +Against a sin-accursed world! +Its wizard leaves the Press shall fling +Unceasing from its iron wing, +With characters inscribed thereon, +As fearful in the despot's ball +As to the pomp of Babylon +The fire-sign on the palace wall! + +And, from her dark iniquities, +Methinks I see my country rise +Not challenging the nations round +To note her tardy justice done; +Her captives from their chains unbound; +Her prisons opening to the sun +But tearfully her arms extending +Over the poor and unoffending; +Her regal emblem now no longer + +A bird of prey, with talons reeking, +Above the dying captive shrieking, +But, spreading out her ample wing, +A broad, impartial covering, +The weaker sheltered by the stronger +Oh, then to Faith's anointed eyes +The promised token shall be given; +And on a nation's sacrifice, +Atoning for the sin of years, +And wet with penitential tears, +The fire shall fall from Heaven! +1839. + + + + +MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA. + +Written on reading an account of the proceedings of the citizens of +Norfolk, Va., in reference to George Latimer, the alleged fugitive +slave, who was seized in Boston without warrant at the request of James +B. Grey, of Norfolk, claiming to be his master. The case caused great +excitement North and South, and led to the presentation of a petition to +Congress, signed by more than fifty thousand citizens of Massachusetts, +calling for such laws and proposed amendments to the Constitution as +should relieve the Commonwealth from all further participation in the +crime of oppression. George Latimer himself was finally given free +papers for the sum of four hundred dollars. + +THE blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way, +Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay. +No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal, +Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel. + +No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go; +Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow; +And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far, +A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war. + +We hear thy threats, Virginia! thy stormy words and high, +Swell harshly on the Southern winds which melt along our sky; +Yet, not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor here, +No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear. + +Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank; +Cold on the shore of Labrador the fog lies white and dank; +Through storm, and wave, and blinding mist, stout +are the hearts which man +The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann. + +The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms, +Bent grimly o'er their straining lines or wrestling with the storms; +Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam, +They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their rocky home. + +What means the Old Dominion? Hath she forgot the day +When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array? +How side by side, with sons of hers, the Massachusetts men +Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then? + +Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call +Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall? +When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath +Of Northern winds, the thrilling sounds of "Liberty or Death!" + +What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved +False to their fathers' memory, false to the faith they loved; +If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn, +Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn? + +We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell; +Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell; +We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves, +From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves! + +Thank God! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow; +The spirit of her early time is with her even now; +Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow and calm and cool, +She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool! + +All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may, +Heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our early day; +But that one dark loathsome burden ye must stagger with alone, +And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown! + +Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's free air +With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild despair; +Cling closer to the "cleaving curse" that writes upon your plains +The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains. + +Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old, +By watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold; +Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market value, when +The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den! + +Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginia name; +Plant, if ye will, your fathers' graves with rankest weeds of shame; +Be, if ye will, the scandal of God's fair universe; +We wash our hands forever of your sin and shame and curse. + +A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's shrine hath been, +Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain men: +The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still +In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill. + +And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey +Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of gray, +How, through the free lips of the son, the father's warning spoke; +How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke! + +A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on high, +A hundred thousand voices sent back their loud reply; +Through the thronged towns of Essex the startling summons rang, +And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics sprang! + +The voice of free, broad Middlesex, of thousands as of one, +The shaft of Bunker calling to that of Lexington; +From Norfolk's ancient villages, from Plymouth's rocky bound +To where Nantucket feels the arms of ocean close her round; + +From rich and rural Worcester, where through the calm repose +Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows, +To where Wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, +Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of "God save Latimer!" + +And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt sea spray; +And Bristol sent her answering shout down Narragansett Bay +Along the broad Connecticut old Hampden felt the thrill, +And the cheer of Hampshire's woodmen swept down from Holyoke Hill. + +The voice of Massachusetts! Of her free sons and daughters, +Deep calling unto deep aloud, the sound of many waters! +Against the burden of that voice what tyrant power shall stand? +No fetters in the Bay State! No slave upon her land! + +Look to it well, Virginians! In calmness we have borne, +In answer to our faith and trust, your insult and your scorn; +You've spurned our kindest counsels; you've hunted for our lives; +And shaken round our hearths and homes your manacles and gyves! + +We wage no war, we lift no arm, we fling no torch within +The fire-clamps of the quaking mine beneath your soil of sin; +We leave ye with your bondmen, to wrestle, while ye can, +With the strong upward tendencies and godlike soul of man! + +But for us and for our children, the vow which we have given +For freedom and humanity is registered in heaven; +No slave-hunt in our borders,--no pirate on our strand! +No fetters in the Bay State,--no slave upon our land! +1843. + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE. + +In a publication of L. F. Tasistro--Random Shots and Southern Breezes-- +is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at which the +auctioneer recommended the woman on the stand as "A GOOD CHRISTIAN!" It +was not uncommon to see advertisements of slaves for sale, in which they +were described as pious or as members of the church. In one +advertisement a slave was noted as "a Baptist preacher." + +A CHRISTIAN! going, gone! +Who bids for God's own image? for his grace, +Which that poor victim of the market-place +Hath in her suffering won? + +My God! can such things be? +Hast Thou not said that whatsoe'er is done +Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest one +Is even done to Thee? + +In that sad victim, then, +Child of Thy pitying love, I see Thee stand; +Once more the jest-word of a mocking band, +Bound, sold, and scourged again! + +A Christian up for sale! +Wet with her blood your whips, o'ertask her frame, +Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame, +Her patience shall not fail! + +A heathen hand might deal +Back on your heads the gathered wrong of years: +But her low, broken prayer and nightly tears, +Ye neither heed nor feel. + +Con well thy lesson o'er, +Thou prudent teacher, tell the toiling slave +No dangerous tale of Him who came to save +The outcast and the poor. + +But wisely shut the ray +Of God's free Gospel from her simple heart, +And to her darkened mind alone impart +One stern command, Obey! [3] + +So shalt thou deftly raise +The market price of human flesh; and while +On thee, their pampered guest, the planters smile, +Thy church shall praise. + +Grave, reverend men shall tell +From Northern pulpits how thy work was blest, +While in that vile South Sodom first and best, +Thy poor disciples sell. + +Oh, shame! the Moslem thrall, +Who, with his master, to the Prophet kneels, +While turning to the sacred Kebla feels +His fetters break and fall. + +Cheers for the turbaned Bey +Of robber-peopled Tunis! he hath torn +The dark slave-dungeons open, and hath borne +Their inmates into day: + +But our poor slave in vain +Turns to the Christian shrine his aching eyes; +Its rites will only swell his market price, +And rivet on his chain. + +God of all right! how long +Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand, +Lifting in prayer to Thee, the bloody hand +And haughty brow of wrong? +1843 + + + + +THE SENTENCE OF JOHN L. BROWN + +Oh, from the fields of cane, +From the low rice-swamp, from the trader's cell; +From the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell, +And coffle's weary chain; +Hoarse, horrible, and strong, +Rises to Heaven that agonizing cry, +Filling the arches of the hollow sky, +How long, O God, how long? + + + + +THE SENTENCE OF JOHN L. BROWN. + +John L. Brown, a young white man of South Carolina, was in 1844 +sentenced to death for aiding a young slave woman, whom he loved and had +married, to escape from slavery. In pronouncing the sentence Judge +O'Neale addressed to the prisoner these words of appalling blasphemy: + +You are to die! To die an ignominious death--the death on the gallows! +This announcement is, to you, I know, most appalling. Little did you +dream of it when you stepped into the bar with an air as if you thought +it was a fine frolic. But the consequences of crime are just such as you +are realizing. Punishment often comes when it is least expected. Let me +entreat you to take the present opportunity to commence the work of +reformation. Time will be furnished you to prepare for the great change +just before you. Of your past life I know nothing, except what your +trial furnished. That told me that the crime for which you are to suffer +was the consequence of a want of attention on your part to the duties of +life. The strange woman snared you. She flattered you with her word; +and you became her victim. The consequence was, that, led on by a desire +to serve her, you committed the offence of aid in a slave to run away +and depart from her master's service; and now, for it you are to die! +You are a young man, and I fear you have been dissolute; and if so, +these kindred vices have contributed a full measure to your ruin. +Reflect on your past life, and make the only useful devotion of the +remnant of your days in preparing for death. Remember now thy Creator in +the days of thy youth is the language of inspired wisdom. This comes +home appropriately to you in this trying moment. You are young; quite +too young to be where you are. If you had remembered your Creator in +your past days, you would not now be in a felon's place, to receive a +felon's judgment. Still, it is not too late to remember your Creator. He +calls early, and He calls late. He stretches out the arms of a Father's +love to you--to the vilest sinner--and says: "Come unto me and be +saved." You can perhaps read. If so, read the Scriptures; read them +without note, and without comment; and pray to God for His assistance; +and you will be able to say when you pass from prison to execution, as a +poor slave said under similar circumstances: "I am glad my Friday has +come." If you cannot read the Scriptures, the ministers of our holy +religion will be ready to aid you. They will read and explain to you +until you will be able to understand; and understanding, to call upon +the only One who can help you and save you--Jesus Christ, the Lamb of +God, who taketh away the sin of the world. To Him I commend you. And +through Him may you have that opening of the Day-Spring of mercy from +on high, which shall bless you here, and crown you as a saint in an +everlasting world, forever and ever. The sentence of the law is that you +be taken hence to the place from whence you came last; thence to the +jail of Fairfield District; and that there you be closely and securely +confined until Friday, the 26th day of April next; on which day, between +the hours of ten in the forenoon and two in the afternoon, you will be +taken to the place of public execution, and there be hanged by the neck +till your body be dead. And may God have mercy on your soul! + +No event in the history of the anti-slavery struggle so stirred the two +hemispheres as did this dreadful sentence. A cry of horror was heard +from Europe. In the British House of Lords, Brougham and Denman spoke of +it with mingled pathos and indignation. Thirteen hundred clergymen and +church officers in Great Britain addressed a memorial to the churches of +South Carolina against the atrocity. Indeed, so strong was the pressure +of the sentiment of abhorrence and disgust that South Carolina yielded +to it, and the sentence was commuted to scourging and banishment. + +Ho! thou who seekest late and long +A License from the Holy Book +For brutal lust and fiendish wrong, +Man of the Pulpit, look! +Lift up those cold and atheist eyes, +This ripe fruit of thy teaching see; +And tell us how to heaven will rise +The incense of this sacrifice-- +This blossom of the gallows tree! + +Search out for slavery's hour of need +Some fitting text of sacred writ; +Give heaven the credit of a deed +Which shames the nether pit. +Kneel, smooth blasphemer, unto Him +Whose truth is on thy lips a lie; +Ask that His bright winged cherubim +May bend around that scaffold grim +To guard and bless and sanctify. + +O champion of the people's cause +Suspend thy loud and vain rebuke +Of foreign wrong and Old World's laws, +Man of the Senate, look! +Was this the promise of the free, +The great hope of our early time, +That slavery's poison vine should be +Upborne by Freedom's prayer-nursed tree +O'erclustered with such fruits of crime? + +Send out the summons East and West, +And South and North, let all be there +Where he who pitied the oppressed +Swings out in sun and air. +Let not a Democratic hand +The grisly hangman's task refuse; +There let each loyal patriot stand, +Awaiting slavery's command, +To twist the rope and draw the noose! + +But vain is irony--unmeet +Its cold rebuke for deeds which start +In fiery and indignant beat +The pulses of the heart. +Leave studied wit and guarded phrase +For those who think but do not feel; +Let men speak out in words which raise +Where'er they fall, an answering blaze +Like flints which strike the fire from steel. + +Still let a mousing priesthood ply +Their garbled text and gloss of sin, +And make the lettered scroll deny +Its living soul within: +Still let the place-fed, titled knave +Plead robbery's right with purchased lips, +And tell us that our fathers gave +For Freedom's pedestal, a slave, +The frieze and moulding, chains and whips! + +But ye who own that Higher Law +Whose tablets in the heart are set, +Speak out in words of power and awe +That God is living yet! +Breathe forth once more those tones sublime +Which thrilled the burdened prophet's lyre, +And in a dark and evil time +Smote down on Israel's fast of crime +And gift of blood, a rain of fire! + +Oh, not for us the graceful lay +To whose soft measures lightly move +The footsteps of the faun and fay, +O'er-locked by mirth and love! +But such a stern and startling strain +As Britain's hunted bards flung down +From Snowden to the conquered plain, +Where harshly clanked the Saxon chain, +On trampled field and smoking town. + +By Liberty's dishonored name, +By man's lost hope and failing trust, +By words and deeds which bow with shame +Our foreheads to the dust, +By the exulting strangers' sneer, +Borne to us from the Old World's thrones, +And by their victims' grief who hear, +In sunless mines and dungeons drear, +How Freedom's land her faith disowns! + +Speak out in acts. The time for words +Has passed, and deeds suffice alone; +In vain against the clang of swords +The wailing pipe is blown! +Act, act in God's name, while ye may! +Smite from the church her leprous limb! +Throw open to the light of day +The bondman's cell, and break away +The chains the state has bound on him! + +Ho! every true and living soul, +To Freedom's perilled altar bear +The Freeman's and the Christian's whole +Tongue, pen, and vote, and prayer! +One last, great battle for the right-- +One short, sharp struggle to be free! +To do is to succeed--our fight +Is waged in Heaven's approving sight; +The smile of God is Victory. +1844. + + + + +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. + + + + +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. + + + + + + + IN WAR TIME. + +TO SAMUEL E. SEWALL AND HARRIET W. SEWAll, OF MELROSE. + +These lines to my old friends stood as dedication in the volume which +contained a collection of pieces under the general title of In War Time. +The group belonging distinctly under that title I have retained here; +the other pieces in the volume are distributed among the appropriate +divisions. + +OLOR ISCANUS queries: "Why should we +Vex at the land's ridiculous miserie?" +So on his Usk banks, in the blood-red dawn +Of England's civil strife, did careless Vaughan +Bemock his times. O friends of many years! +Though faith and trust are stronger than our fears, +And the signs promise peace with liberty, +Not thus we trifle with our country's tears +And sweat of agony. The future's gain +Is certain as God's truth; but, meanwhile, pain +Is bitter and tears are salt: our voices take +A sober tone; our very household songs +Are heavy with a nation's griefs and wrongs; +And innocent mirth is chastened for the sake +Of the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat, +The eyes that smile no more, the unreturning +feet! +1863 + + + + +THY WILL BE DONE. + +WE see not, know not; all our way +Is night,--with Thee alone is day +From out the torrent's troubled drift, +Above the storm our prayers we lift, +Thy will be done! + +The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, +But who are we to make complaint, +Or dare to plead, in times like these, +The weakness of our love of ease? +Thy will be done! + +We take with solemn thankfulness +Our burden up, nor ask it less, +And count it joy that even we +May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, +Whose will be done! + +Though dim as yet in tint and line, +We trace Thy picture's wise design, +And thank Thee that our age supplies +Its dark relief of sacrifice. +Thy will be done! + +And if, in our unworthiness, +Thy sacrificial wine we press; +If from Thy ordeal's heated bars +Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, +Thy will be done! + +If, for the age to come, this hour +Of trial hath vicarious power, +And, blest by Thee, our present pain, +Be Liberty's eternal gain, +Thy will be done! + +Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys, +The anthem of the destinies! +The minor of Thy loftier strain, +Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, +Thy will be done! +1861. + + + + +A WORD FOR THE HOUR. + +THE firmament breaks up. In black eclipse +Light after light goes out. One evil star, +Luridly glaring through the smoke of war, +As in the dream of the Apocalypse, +Drags others down. Let us not weakly weep +Nor rashly threaten. Give us grace to keep +Our faith and patience; wherefore should we leap +On one hand into fratricidal fight, +Or, on the other, yield eternal right, +Frame lies of law, and good and ill confound? +What fear we? Safe on freedom's vantage-ground +Our feet are planted: let us there remain +In unrevengeful calm, no means untried +Which truth can sanction, no just claim denied, +The sad spectators of a suicide! +They break the links of Union: shall we light +The fires of hell to weld anew the chain +On that red anvil where each blow is pain? +Draw we not even now a freer breath, +As from our shoulders falls a load of death +Loathsome as that the Tuscan's victim bore +When keen with life to a dead horror bound? +Why take we up the accursed thing again? +Pity, forgive, but urge them back no more +Who, drunk with passion, flaunt disunion's rag +With its vile reptile-blazon. Let us press +The golden cluster on our brave old flag +In closer union, and, if numbering less, +Brighter shall shine the stars which still remain. +16th First mo., 1861. + + + + +"EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT." + +LUTHER'S HYMN. +WE wait beneath the furnace-blast +The pangs of transformation; +Not painlessly doth God recast +And mould anew the nation. +Hot burns the fire +Where wrongs expire; +Nor spares the hand +That from the land +Uproots the ancient evil. + +The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared +Its bloody rain is dropping; +The poison plant the fathers spared +All else is overtopping. +East, West, South, North, +It curses the earth; +All justice dies, +And fraud and lies +Live only in its shadow. + +What gives the wheat-field blades of steel? +What points the rebel cannon? +What sets the roaring rabble's heel +On the old star-spangled pennon? +What breaks the oath +Of the men o' the South? +What whets the knife +For the Union's life?-- +Hark to the answer: Slavery! + +Then waste no blows on lesser foes +In strife unworthy freemen. +God lifts to-day the veil, and shows +The features of the demon +O North and South, +Its victims both, +Can ye not cry, +"Let slavery die!" +And union find in freedom? + +What though the cast-out spirit tear +The nation in his going? +We who have shared the guilt must share +The pang of his o'erthrowing! +Whate'er the loss, +Whate'er the cross, +Shall they complain +Of present pain +Who trust in God's hereafter? + +For who that leans on His right arm +Was ever yet forsaken? +What righteous cause can suffer harm +If He its part has taken? +Though wild and loud, +And dark the cloud, +Behind its folds +His hand upholds +The calm sky of to-morrow! + +Above the maddening cry for blood, +Above the wild war-drumming, +Let Freedom's voice be heard, with good +The evil overcoming. +Give prayer and purse +To stay the Curse +Whose wrong we share, +Whose shame we bear, +Whose end shall gladden Heaven! + +In vain the bells of war shall ring +Of triumphs and revenges, +While still is spared the evil thing +That severs and estranges. +But blest the ear +That yet shall hear +The jubilant bell +That rings the knell +Of Slavery forever! + +Then let the selfish lip be dumb, +And hushed the breath of sighing; +Before the joy of peace must come +The pains of purifying. +God give us grace +Each in his place +To bear his lot, +And, murmuring not, +Endure and wait and labor! +1861. + + + + +TO JOHN C. FREMONT. +On the 31st of August, 1861, General Fremont, then in charge of the +Western Department, issued a proclamation which contained a clause, +famous as the first announcement of emancipation: "The property," it +declared, "real and personal, of all persons in the State of Missouri, +who shall take up arms against the United States, or who shall be +directly proven to have taken active part with their enemies in the +field, is declared to be confiscated to the public use; and their +slaves, if any they have, are hereby declared free men." Mr. Lincoln +regarded the proclamation as premature and countermanded it, after +vainly endeavoring to persuade Fremont of his own motion to revoke it. + +THY error, Fremont, simply was to act +A brave man's part, without the statesman's tact, +And, taking counsel but of common sense, +To strike at cause as well as consequence. +Oh, never yet since Roland wound his horn +At Roncesvalles, has a blast been blown +Far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own, +Heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn +It had been safer, doubtless, for the time, +To flatter treason, and avoid offence +To that Dark Power whose underlying crime +Heaves upward its perpetual turbulence. +But if thine be the fate of all who break +The ground for truth's seed, or forerun their years +Till lost in distance, or with stout hearts make +A lane for freedom through the level spears, +Still take thou courage! God has spoken through thee, +Irrevocable, the mighty words, Be free! +The land shakes with them, and the slave's dull ear +Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear. +Who would recall them now must first arrest +The winds that blow down from the free Northwest, +Ruffling the Gulf; or like a scroll roll back +The Mississippi to its upper springs. +Such words fulfil their prophecy, and lack +But the full time to harden into things. +1861. + + + + +THE WATCHERS. + +BESIDE a stricken field I stood; +On the torn turf, on grass and wood, +Hung heavily the dew of blood. + +Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, +But all the air was quick with pain +And gusty sighs and tearful rain. + +Two angels, each with drooping head +And folded wings and noiseless tread, +Watched by that valley of the dead. + +The one, with forehead saintly bland +And lips of blessing, not command, +Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. + +The other's brows were scarred and knit, +His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, +His hands for battle-gauntlets fit. + +"How long!"--I knew the voice of Peace,-- +"Is there no respite? no release? +When shall the hopeless quarrel cease? + +"O Lord, how long!! One human soul +Is more than any parchment scroll, +Or any flag thy winds unroll. + +"What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? +How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, +Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? + +"O brother! if thine eye can see, +Tell how and when the end shall be, +What hope remains for thee and me." + +Then Freedom sternly said: "I shun +No strife nor pang beneath the sun, +When human rights are staked and won. + +"I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, +I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock, +I walked with Sidney to the block. + +"The moor of Marston felt my tread, +Through Jersey snows the march I led, +My voice Magenta's charges sped. + +"But now, through weary day and night, +I watch a vague and aimless fight +For leave to strike one blow aright. + +"On either side my foe they own +One guards through love his ghastly throne, +And one through fear to reverence grown. + +"Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, +By open foes, or those afraid +To speed thy coming through my aid? + +"Why watch to see who win or fall? +I shake the dust against them all, +I leave them to their senseless brawl." + +"Nay," Peace implored: "yet longer wait; +The doom is near, the stake is great +God knoweth if it be too late. + +"Still wait and watch; the way prepare +Where I with folded wings of prayer +May follow, weaponless and bare." + +"Too late!" the stern, sad voice replied, +"Too late!" its mournful echo sighed, +In low lament the answer died. + +A rustling as of wings in flight, +An upward gleam of lessening white, +So passed the vision, sound and sight. + +But round me, like a silver bell +Rung down the listening sky to tell +Of holy help, a sweet voice fell. + +"Still hope and trust," it sang; "the rod +Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, +But all is possible with God!" +1862. + + + + +TO ENGLISHMEN. +Written when, in the stress of our terrible war, the English ruling +class, with few exceptions, were either coldly indifferent or hostile to +the party of freedom. Their attitude was illustrated by caricatures of +America, among which was one of a slaveholder and cowhide, with the +motto, "Haven't I a right to wallop my nigger?" + +You flung your taunt across the wave +We bore it as became us, +Well knowing that the fettered slave +Left friendly lips no option save +To pity or to blame us. + +You scoffed our plea. "Mere lack of will, +Not lack of power," you told us +We showed our free-state records; still +You mocked, confounding good and ill, +Slave-haters and slaveholders. + +We struck at Slavery; to the verge +Of power and means we checked it; +Lo!--presto, change! its claims you urge, +Send greetings to it o'er the surge, +And comfort and protect it. + +But yesterday you scarce could shake, +In slave-abhorring rigor, +Our Northern palms for conscience' sake +To-day you clasp the hands that ache +With "walloping the nigger!" + +O Englishmen!--in hope and creed, +In blood and tongue our brothers! +We too are heirs of Runnymede; +And Shakespeare's fame and Cromwell's deed +Are not alone our mother's. + +"Thicker than water," in one rill +Through centuries of story +Our Saxon blood has flowed, and still +We share with you its good and ill, +The shadow and the glory. + +Joint heirs and kinfolk, leagues of wave +Nor length of years can part us +Your right is ours to shrine and grave, +The common freehold of the brave, +The gift of saints and martyrs. + +Our very sins and follies teach +Our kindred frail and human +We carp at faults with bitter speech, +The while, for one unshared by each, +We have a score in common. + +We bowed the heart, if not the knee, +To England's Queen, God bless her +We praised you when your slaves went free +We seek to unchain ours. Will ye +Join hands with the oppressor? + +And is it Christian England cheers +The bruiser, not the bruised? +And must she run, despite the tears +And prayers of eighteen hundred years, +Amuck in Slavery's crusade? + +Oh, black disgrace! Oh, shame and loss +Too deep for tongue to phrase on +Tear from your flag its holy cross, +And in your van of battle toss +The pirate's skull-bone blazon! +1862. + + + + +MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS. + +It is recorded that the Chians, when subjugated by Mithridates of +Cappadocia, were delivered up to their own slaves, to be carried away +captive to Colchis. Athenxus considers this a just punishment for their +wickedness in first introducing the slave-trade into Greece. From this +ancient villany of the Chians the proverb arose, "The Chian hath bought +himself a master." + +KNOW'ST thou, O slave-cursed land +How, when the Chian's cup of guilt +Was full to overflow, there came +God's justice in the sword of flame +That, red with slaughter to its hilt, +Blazed in the Cappadocian victor's hand? + +The heavens are still and far; +But, not unheard of awful Jove, +The sighing of the island slave +Was answered, when the AEgean wave +The keels of Mithridates clove, +And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. + +"Robbers of Chios! hark," +The victor cried, "to Heaven's decree! +Pluck your last cluster from the vine, +Drain your last cup of Chian wine; +Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, +In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark." + +Then rose the long lament +From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves +The priestess rent her hair and cried, +"Woe! woe! The gods are sleepless-eyed!" +And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, +The lords of Chios into exile went. + +"The gods at last pay well," +So Hellas sang her taunting song, +"The fisher in his net is caught, +The Chian hath his master bought;" +And isle from isle, with laughter long, +Took up and sped the mocking parable. + +Once more the slow, dumb years +Bring their avenging cycle round, +And, more than Hellas taught of old, +Our wiser lesson shall be told, +Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, +To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their +blood and tears. +1868. + + + + +AT PORT ROYAL. + +In November, 1861, a Union force under Commodore Dupont and General +Sherman captured Port Royal, and from this point as a basis of +operations, the neighboring islands between Charleston and Savannah were +taken possession of. The early occupation of this district, where the +negro population was greatly in excess of the white, gave an opportunity +which was at once seized upon, of practically emancipating the slaves +and of beginning that work of civilization which was accepted as the +grave responsibility of those who had labored for freedom. + +THE tent-lights glimmer on the land, +The ship-lights on the sea; +The night-wind smooths with drifting sand +Our track on lone Tybee. + +At last our grating keels outslide, +Our good boats forward swing; +And while we ride the land-locked tide, +Our negroes row and sing. + +For dear the bondman holds his gifts +Of music and of song +The gold that kindly Nature sifts +Among his sands of wrong: + +The power to make his toiling days +And poor home-comforts please; +The quaint relief of mirth that plays +With sorrow's minor keys. + +Another glow than sunset's fire +Has filled the west with light, +Where field and garner, barn and byre, +Are blazing through the night. + +The land is wild with fear and hate, +The rout runs mad and fast; +From hand to hand, from gate to gate +The flaming brand is passed. + +The lurid glow falls strong across +Dark faces broad with smiles +Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss +That fire yon blazing piles. + +With oar-strokes timing to their song, +They weave in simple lays +The pathos of remembered wrong, +The hope of better days,-- + +The triumph-note that Miriam sung, +The joy of uncaged birds +Softening with Afric's mellow tongue +Their broken Saxon words. + + +SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMEN. + +Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come +To set de people free; +An' massa tink it day ob doom, +An' we ob jubilee. +De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves +He jus' as 'trong as den; +He say de word: we las' night slaves; +To-day, de Lord's freemen. +De yam will grow, de cotton blow, +We'll hab de rice an' corn; +Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear +De driver blow his horn! + +Ole massa on he trabbels gone; +He leaf de land behind +De Lord's breff blow him furder on, +Like corn-shuck in de wind. +We own de hoe, we own de plough, +We own de hands dat hold; +We sell de pig, we sell de cow, +But nebber chile be sold. +De yam will grow, de cotton blow, +We'll hab de rice an' corn; +Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear +De driver blow his horn! + +We pray de Lord: he gib us signs +Dat some day we be free; +De norf-wind tell it to de pines, +De wild-duck to de sea; +We tink it when de church-bell ring, +We dream it in de dream; +De rice-bird mean it when he sing, +De eagle when be scream. +De yam will grow, de cotton blow, +We'll hab de rice an' corn +Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear +De driver blow his horn! + +We know de promise nebber fail, +An' nebber lie de word; +So like de 'postles in de jail, +We waited for de Lord +An' now he open ebery door, +An' trow away de key; +He tink we lub him so before, +We hub him better free. +De yam will grow, de cotton blow, +He'll gib de rice an' corn; +Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear +De driver blow his horn! + +So sing our dusky gondoliers; +And with a secret pain, +And smiles that seem akin to tears, +We hear the wild refrain. + +We dare not share the negro's trust, +Nor yet his hope deny; +We only know that God is just, +And every wrong shall die. + +Rude seems the song; each swarthy face, +Flame-lighted, ruder still +We start to think that hapless race +Must shape our good or ill; + +That laws of changeless justice bind +Oppressor with oppressed; +And, close as sin and suffering joined, +We march to Fate abreast. + +Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be +Our sign of blight or bloom, +The Vala-song of Liberty, +Or death-rune of our doom! +1862. + + + + +ASTRAEA AT THE CAPITOL. + +ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1862. + +WHEN first I saw our banner wave +Above the nation's council-hall, +I heard beneath its marble wall +The clanking fetters of the slave! + +In the foul market-place I stood, +And saw the Christian mother sold, +And childhood with its locks of gold, +Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood. + +I shut my eyes, I held my breath, +And, smothering down the wrath and shame +That set my Northern blood aflame, +Stood silent,--where to speak was death. + +Beside me gloomed the prison-cell +Where wasted one in slow decline +For uttering simple words of mine, +And loving freedom all too well. + +The flag that floated from the dome +Flapped menace in the morning air; +I stood a perilled stranger where +The human broker made his home. + +For crime was virtue: Gown and Sword +And Law their threefold sanction gave, +And to the quarry of the slave +Went hawking with our symbol-bird. + +On the oppressor's side was power; +And yet I knew that every wrong, +However old, however strong, +But waited God's avenging hour. + +I knew that truth would crush the lie, +Somehow, some time, the end would be; +Yet scarcely dared I hope to see +The triumph with my mortal eye. + +But now I see it! In the sun +A free flag floats from yonder dome, +And at the nation's hearth and home +The justice long delayed is done. + +Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer, +The message of deliverance comes, +But heralded by roll of drums +On waves of battle-troubled air! + +Midst sounds that madden and appall, +The song that Bethlehem's shepherds knew! +The harp of David melting through +The demon-agonies of Saul! + +Not as we hoped; but what are we? +Above our broken dreams and plans +God lays, with wiser hand than man's, +The corner-stones of liberty. + +I cavil not with Him: the voice +That freedom's blessed gospel tells +Is sweet to me as silver bells, +Rejoicing! yea, I will rejoice! + +Dear friends still toiling in the sun; +Ye dearer ones who, gone before, +Are watching from the eternal shore +The slow work by your hands begun, + +Rejoice with me! The chastening rod +Blossoms with love; the furnace heat +Grows cool beneath His blessed feet +Whose form is as the Son of God! + +Rejoice! Our Marah's bitter springs +Are sweetened; on our ground of grief +Rise day by day in strong relief +The prophecies of better things. + +Rejoice in hope! The day and night +Are one with God, and one with them +Who see by faith the cloudy hem +Of Judgment fringed with Mercy's light +1862. + + + + +THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862. + +THE flags of war like storm-birds fly, +The charging trumpets blow; +Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, +No earthquake strives below. + +And, calm and patient, Nature keeps +Her ancient promise well, +Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps +The battle's breath of hell. + +And still she walks in golden hours +Through harvest-happy farms, +And still she wears her fruits and flowers +Like jewels on her arms. + +What mean the gladness of the plain, +This joy of eve and morn, +The mirth that shakes the beard of grain +And yellow locks of corn? + +Ah! eyes may well be full of tears, +And hearts with hate are hot; +But even-paced come round the years, +And Nature changes not. + +She meets with smiles our bitter grief, +With songs our groans of pain; +She mocks with tint of flower and leaf +The war-field's crimson stain. + +Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear +Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm; +Too near to God for doubt or fear, +She shares the eternal calm. + +She knows the seed lies safe below +The fires that blast and burn; +For all the tears of blood we sow +She waits the rich return. + +She sees with clearer eve than ours +The good of suffering born,-- +The hearts that blossom like her flowers, +And ripen like her corn. + +Oh, give to us, in times like these, +The vision of her eyes; +And make her fields and fruited trees +Our golden prophecies + +Oh, give to us her finer ear +Above this stormy din, +We too would hear the bells of cheer +Ring peace and freedom in. +1862. + + + + +HYMN, + +SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST. HELENA'S ISLAND, S. C. + +OH, none in all the world before +Were ever glad as we! +We're free on Carolina's shore, +We're all at home and free. + +Thou Friend and Helper of the poor, +Who suffered for our sake, +To open every prison door, +And every yoke to break! + +Bend low Thy pitying face and mild, +And help us sing and pray; +The hand that blessed the little child, +Upon our foreheads lay. + +We hear no more the driver's horn, +No more the whip we fear, +This holy day that saw Thee born +Was never half so dear. + +The very oaks are greener clad, +The waters brighter smile; +Oh, never shone a day so glad +On sweet St. Helen's Isle. + +We praise Thee in our songs to-day, +To Thee in prayer we call, +Make swift the feet and straight the way +Of freedom unto all. + +Come once again, O blessed Lord! +Come walking on the sea! +And let the mainlands hear the word +That sets the islands free! +1863. + + + + +THE PROCLAMATION. + +President Lincoln's proclamation of emancipation was issued +January 1, 1863. + +SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds +Of Ballymena, wakened with these words +"Arise, and flee +Out from the land of bondage, and be free!" + +Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven +The angels singing of his sins forgiven, +And, wondering, sees +His prison opening to their golden keys, + +He rose a man who laid him down a slave, +Shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, +And outward trod +Into the glorious liberty of God. + +He cast the symbols of his shame away; +And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, +Though back and limb +Smarted with wrong, he prayed, "God pardon +him!" + +So went he forth; but in God's time he came +To light on Uilline's hills a holy flame; +And, dying, gave +The land a saint that lost him as a slave. + +O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb +Waiting for God, your hour at last has come, +And freedom's song +Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! + +Arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint +Of ages; but, like Ballymena's saint, +The oppressor spare, +Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. + +Go forth, like him! like him return again, +To bless the land whereon in bitter pain +Ye toiled at first, +And heal with freedom what your slavery cursed. +1863. + + + + +ANNIVERSARY POEM. + +Read before the Alumni of the Friends' Yearly Meeting School, at the +Annual Meeting at Newport, R. I., 15th 6th mo., 1863. + +ONCE more, dear friends, you meet beneath +A clouded sky +Not yet the sword has found its sheath, +And on the sweet spring airs the breath +Of war floats by. + +Yet trouble springs not from the ground, +Nor pain from chance; +The Eternal order circles round, +And wave and storm find mete and bound +In Providence. + +Full long our feet the flowery ways +Of peace have trod, +Content with creed and garb and phrase: +A harder path in earlier days +Led up to God. + +Too cheaply truths, once purchased dear, +Are made our own; +Too long the world has smiled to hear +Our boast of full corn in the ear +By others sown; + +To see us stir the martyr fires +Of long ago, +And wrap our satisfied desires +In the singed mantles that our sires +Have dropped below. + +But now the cross our worthies bore +On us is laid; +Profession's quiet sleep is o'er, +And in the scale of truth once more +Our faith is weighed. + +The cry of innocent blood at last +Is calling down +An answer in the whirlwind-blast, +The thunder and the shadow cast +From Heaven's dark frown. + +The land is red with judgments. Who +Stands guiltless forth? +Have we been faithful as we knew, +To God and to our brother true, +To Heaven and Earth. + +How faint, through din of merchandise +And count of gain, +Have seemed to us the captive's cries! +How far away the tears and sighs +Of souls in pain! + +This day the fearful reckoning comes +To each and all; +We hear amidst our peaceful homes +The summons of the conscript drums, +The bugle's call. + +Our path is plain; the war-net draws +Round us in vain, +While, faithful to the Higher Cause, +We keep our fealty to the laws +Through patient pain. + +The levelled gun, the battle-brand, +We may not take +But, calmly loyal, we can stand +And suffer with our suffering land +For conscience' sake. + +Why ask for ease where all is pain? +Shall we alone +Be left to add our gain to gain, +When over Armageddon's plain +The trump is blown? + +To suffer well is well to serve; +Safe in our Lord +The rigid lines of law shall curve +To spare us; from our heads shall swerve +Its smiting sword. + +And light is mingled with the gloom, +And joy with grief; +Divinest compensations come, +Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom +In sweet relief. + +Thanks for our privilege to bless, +By word and deed, +The widow in her keen distress, +The childless and the fatherless, +The hearts that bleed! + +For fields of duty, opening wide, +Where all our powers +Are tasked the eager steps to guide +Of millions on a path untried +The slave is ours! + +Ours by traditions dear and old, +Which make the race +Our wards to cherish and uphold, +And cast their freedom in the mould +Of Christian grace. + +And we may tread the sick-bed floors +Where strong men pine, +And, down the groaning corridors, +Pour freely from our liberal stores +The oil and wine. + +Who murmurs that in these dark days +His lot is cast? +God's hand within the shadow lays +The stones whereon His gates of praise +Shall rise at last. + +Turn and o'erturn, O outstretched Hand +Nor stint, nor stay; +The years have never dropped their sand +On mortal issue vast and grand +As ours to-day. + +Already, on the sable ground +Of man's despair +Is Freedom's glorious picture found, +With all its dusky hands unbound +Upraised in prayer. + +Oh, small shall seem all sacrifice +And pain and loss, +When God shall wipe the weeping eyes, +For suffering give the victor's prize, +The crown for cross. + + + + +BARBARA FRIETCHIE. + +This poem was written in strict conformity to the account of the +incident as I had it from respectable and trustworthy sources. It has +since been the subject of a good deal of conflicting testimony, and the +story was probably incorrect in some of its details. It is admitted by +all that Barbara Frietchie was no myth, but a worthy and highly esteemed +gentlewoman, intensely loyal and a hater of the Slavery Rebellion, +holding her Union flag sacred and keeping it with her Bible; that when +the Confederates halted before her house, and entered her dooryard, she +denounced them in vigorous language, shook her cane in their faces, and +drove them out; and when General Burnside's troops followed close upon +Jackson's, she waved her flag and cheered them. It is stated that May +Qnantrell, a brave and loyal lady in another part of the city, did wave +her flag in sight of the Confederates. It is possible that there has +been a blending of the two incidents. + +Up from the meadows rich with corn, +Clear in the cool September morn. + +The clustered spires of Frederick stand +Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. + +Round about them orchards sweep, +Apple and peach tree fruited deep, + +Fair as the garden of the Lord +To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, + +On that pleasant morn of the early fall +When Lee marched over the mountain-wall; + +Over the mountains winding down, +Horse and foot, into Frederick town. + +Forty flags with their silver stars, +Forty flags with their crimson bars, + +Flapped in the morning wind: the sun +Of noon looked down, and saw not one. + +Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, +Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; + +Bravest of all in Frederick town, +She took up the flag the men hauled down; + +In her attic window the staff she set, +To show that one heart was loyal yet. + +Up the street came the rebel tread, +Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. + +Under his slouched hat left and right +He glanced; the old flag met his sight. + +"Halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast. +"Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast. + +It shivered the window, pane and sash; +It rent the banner with seam and gash. + +Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff +Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. + +She leaned far out on the window-sill, +And shook it forth with a royal will. + +"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, +But spare your country's flag," she said. + +A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, +Over the face of the leader came; + +The nobler nature within him stirred +To life at that woman's deed and word. + +"Who touches a hair of yon gray head +Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. + +All day long through Frederick street +Sounded the tread of marching feet. + +All day long that free flag tost +Over the heads of the rebel host. + +Ever its torn folds rose and fell +On the loyal winds that loved it well; + +And through the hill-gaps sunset light +Shone over it with a warm good-night. + +Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, +And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. + +Honor to her! and let a tear +Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. + +Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, +Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! + +Peace and order and beauty draw +Round thy symbol of light and law; + +And ever the stars above look down +On thy stars below in Frederick town! +1863. + + + +WHAT THE BIRDS SAID. + +THE birds against the April wind +Flew northward, singing as they flew; +They sang, "The land we leave behind +Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew." + +"O wild-birds, flying from the South, +What saw and heard ye, gazing down?" +"We saw the mortar's upturned mouth, +The sickened camp, the blazing town! + +"Beneath the bivouac's starry lamps, +We saw your march-worn children die; +In shrouds of moss, in cypress swamps, +We saw your dead uncoffined lie. + +"We heard the starving prisoner's sighs, +And saw, from line and trench, your sons +Follow our flight with home-sick eyes +Beyond the battery's smoking guns." + +"And heard and saw ye only wrong +And pain," I cried, "O wing-worn flocks?" +"We heard," they sang, "the freedman's song, +The crash of Slavery's broken locks! + +"We saw from new, uprising States +The treason-nursing mischief spurned, +As, crowding Freedom's ample gates, +The long estranged and lost returned. + +"O'er dusky faces, seamed and old, +And hands horn-hard with unpaid toil, +With hope in every rustling fold, +We saw your star-dropt flag uncoil. + +"And struggling up through sounds accursed, +A grateful murmur clomb the air; +A whisper scarcely heard at first, +It filled the listening heavens with prayer. + +"And sweet and far, as from a star, +Replied a voice which shall not cease, +Till, drowning all the noise of war, +It sings the blessed song of peace!" + +So to me, in a doubtful day +Of chill and slowly greening spring, +Low stooping from the cloudy gray, +The wild-birds sang or seemed to sing. + +They vanished in the misty air, +The song went with them in their flight; +But lo! they left the sunset fair, +And in the evening there was light. +April, 1864. + + + + +THE MANTLE OF ST. JOHN DE MATHA. + +A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE," A. D. 1154-1864. + +A STRONG and mighty Angel, +Calm, terrible, and bright, +The cross in blended red and blue +Upon his mantle white. + +Two captives by him kneeling, +Each on his broken chain, +Sang praise to God who raiseth +The dead to life again! + +Dropping his cross-wrought mantle, +"Wear this," the Angel said; +"Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign, +The white, the blue, and red." + +Then rose up John de Matha +In the strength the Lord Christ gave, +And begged through all the land of France +The ransom of the slave. + +The gates of tower and castle +Before him open flew, +The drawbridge at his coming fell, +The door-bolt backward drew. + +For all men owned his errand, +And paid his righteous tax; +And the hearts of lord and peasant +Were in his hands as wax. + +At last, outbound from Tunis, +His bark her anchor weighed, +Freighted with seven-score Christian souls +Whose ransom he had paid. + +But, torn by Paynim hatred, +Her sails in tatters hung; +And on the wild waves, rudderless, +A shattered hulk she swung. + +"God save us!" cried the captain, +"For naught can man avail; +Oh, woe betide the ship that lacks +Her rudder and her sail! + +"Behind us are the Moormen; +At sea we sink or strand +There's death upon the water, +There's death upon the land!" + +Then up spake John de Matha +"God's errands never fail! +Take thou the mantle which I wear, +And make of it a sail." + +They raised the cross-wrought mantle, +The blue, the white, the red; +And straight before the wind off-shore +The ship of Freedom sped. + +"God help us!" cried the seamen, +"For vain is mortal skill +The good ship on a stormy sea +Is drifting at its will." + +Then up spake John de Matha +"My mariners, never fear +The Lord whose breath has filled her sail +May well our vessel steer!" + +So on through storm and darkness +They drove for weary hours; +And lo! the third gray morning shone +On Ostia's friendly towers. + +And on the walls the watchers +The ship of mercy knew, +They knew far off its holy cross, +The red, the white, and blue. + +And the bells in all the steeples +Rang out in glad accord, +To welcome home to Christian soil +The ransomed of the Lord. + +So runs the ancient legend +By bard and painter told; +And lo! the cycle rounds again, +The new is as the old! + +With rudder foully broken, +And sails by traitors torn, +Our country on a midnight sea +Is waiting for the morn. + +Before her, nameless terror; +Behind, the pirate foe; +The clouds are black above her, +The sea is white below. + +The hope of all who suffer, +The dread of all who wrong, +She drifts in darkness and in storm, +How long, O Lord I how long? + +But courage, O my mariners +Ye shall not suffer wreck, +While up to God the freedman's prayers +Are rising from your deck. + +Is not your sail the banner +Which God hath blest anew, +The mantle that De Matha wore, +The red, the white, the blue? + +Its hues are all of heaven, +The red of sunset's dye, +The whiteness of the moon-lit cloud, +The blue of morning's sky. + +Wait cheerily, then, O mariners, +For daylight and for land; +The breath of God is in your sail, +Your rudder is His hand. + +Sail on, sail on, deep-freighted +With blessings and with hopes; +The saints of old with shadowy hands +Are pulling at your ropes. + +Behind ye holy martyrs +Uplift the palm and crown; +Before ye unborn ages send +Their benedictions down. + +Take heart from John de Matha!-- +God's errands never fail! +Sweep on through storm and darkness, +The thunder and the hail! + +Sail on! The morning cometh, +The port ye yet shall win; +And all the bells of God shall ring +The good ship bravely in! +1865. + + + + +LAUS DEO! + +On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional amendment +abolishing slavery. The resolution was adopted by Congress, January 31, +1865. The ratification by the requisite number of states was announced +December 18, 1865. + +IT is done! +Clang of bell and roar of gun +Send the tidings up and down. +How the belfries rock and reel! +How the great guns, peal on peal, +Fling the joy from town to town! + +Ring, O bells! +Every stroke exulting tells +Of the burial hour of crime. +Loud and long, that all may hear, +Ring for every listening ear +Of Eternity and Time! + +Let us kneel +God's own voice is in that peal, +And this spot is holy ground. +Lord, forgive us! What are we, +That our eyes this glory see, +That our ears have heard the sound! + +For the Lord +On the whirlwind is abroad; +In the earthquake He has spoken; +He has smitten with His thunder +The iron walls asunder, +And the gates of brass are broken. + +Loud and long +Lift the old exulting song; +Sing with Miriam by the sea, +He has cast the mighty down; +Horse and rider sink and drown; +"He hath triumphed gloriously!" + +Did we dare, +In our agony of prayer, +Ask for more than He has done? +When was ever His right hand +Over any time or land +Stretched as now beneath the sun? + +How they pale, +Ancient myth and song and tale, +In this wonder of our days, +When the cruel rod of war +Blossoms white with righteous law, +And the wrath of man is praise! + +Blotted out +All within and all about +Shall a fresher life begin; +Freer breathe the universe +As it rolls its heavy curse +On the dead and buried sin! + +It is done! +In the circuit of the sun +Shall the sound thereof go forth. +It shall bid the sad rejoice, +It shall give the dumb a voice, +It shall belt with joy the earth! + +Ring and swing, +Bells of joy! On morning's wing +Send the song of praise abroad! +With a sound of broken chains +Tell the nations that He reigns, +Who alone is Lord and God! +1865. + + + + +HYMN +FOR THE CELEBRATION OF EMANCIPATION AT NEWBURYPORT. + +NOT unto us who did but seek +The word that burned within to speak, +Not unto us this day belong +The triumph and exultant song. + +Upon us fell in early youth +The burden of unwelcome truth, +And left us, weak and frail and few, +The censor's painful work to do. + +Thenceforth our life a fight became, +The air we breathed was hot with blame; +For not with gauged and softened tone +We made the bondman's cause our own. + +We bore, as Freedom's hope forlorn, +The private hate, the public scorn; +Yet held through all the paths we trod +Our faith in man and trust in God. + +We prayed and hoped; but still, with awe, +The coming of the sword we saw; +We heard the nearing steps of doom, +We saw the shade of things to come. + +In grief which they alone can feel +Who from a mother's wrong appeal, +With blended lines of fear and hope +We cast our country's horoscope. + +For still within her house of life +We marked the lurid sign of strife, +And, poisoning and imbittering all, +We saw the star of Wormwood fall. + +Deep as our love for her became +Our hate of all that wrought her shame, +And if, thereby, with tongue and pen +We erred,--we were but mortal men. + +We hoped for peace; our eyes survey +The blood-red dawn of Freedom's day +We prayed for love to loose the chain; +'T is shorn by battle's axe in twain! + +Nor skill nor strength nor zeal of ours +Has mined and heaved the hostile towers; +Not by our hands is turned the key +That sets the sighing captives free. + +A redder sea than Egypt's wave +Is piled and parted for the slave; +A darker cloud moves on in light; +A fiercer fire is guide by night. + +The praise, O Lord! is Thine alone, +In Thy own way Thy work is done! +Our poor gifts at Thy feet we cast, +To whom be glory, first and last! +1865. + + + + + + +AFTER THE WAR. + +THE PEACE AUTUMN. + +Written for the Fssex County Agricultural Festival, 1865. + +THANK God for rest, where none molest, +And none can make afraid; +For Peace that sits as Plenty's guest +Beneath the homestead shade! + +Bring pike and gun, the sword's red scourge, +The negro's broken chains, +And beat them at the blacksmith's forge +To ploughshares for our plains. + +Alike henceforth our hills of snow, +And vales where cotton flowers; +All streams that flow, all winds that blow, +Are Freedom's motive-powers. + +Henceforth to Labor's chivalry +Be knightly honors paid; +For nobler than the sword's shall be +The sickle's accolade. + +Build up an altar to the Lord, +O grateful hearts of ours +And shape it of the greenest sward +That ever drank the showers. + +Lay all the bloom of gardens there, +And there the orchard fruits; +Bring golden grain from sun and air, +From earth her goodly roots. + +There let our banners droop and flow, +The stars uprise and fall; +Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow, +Let sighing breezes call. + +Their names let hands of horn and tan +And rough-shod feet applaud, +Who died to make the slave a man, +And link with toil reward. + +There let the common heart keep time +To such an anthem sung +As never swelled on poet's rhyme, +Or thrilled on singer's tongue. + +Song of our burden and relief, +Of peace and long annoy; +The passion of our mighty grief +And our exceeding joy! + +A song of praise to Him who filled +The harvests sown in tears, +And gave each field a double yield +To feed our battle-years. + +A song of faith that trusts the end +To match the good begun, +Nor doubts the power of Love to blend +The hearts of men as one! + + + + +TO THE THIRTY-NINTH CONGRESS. + +The thirty-ninth congress was that which met in 1565 after the close of +the war, when it was charged with the great question of reconstruction; +the uppermost subject in men's minds was the standing of those who had +recently been in arms against the Union and their relations to the +freedmen. + +O PEOPLE-CHOSEN! are ye not +Likewise the chosen of the Lord, +To do His will and speak His word? + +From the loud thunder-storm of war +Not man alone hath called ye forth, +But He, the God of all the earth! + +The torch of vengeance in your hands +He quenches; unto Him belongs +The solemn recompense of wrongs. + +Enough of blood the land has seen, +And not by cell or gallows-stair +Shall ye the way of God prepare. + +Say to the pardon-seekers: Keep +Your manhood, bend no suppliant knees, +Nor palter with unworthy pleas. + +Above your voices sounds the wail +Of starving men; we shut in vain * +Our eyes to Pillow's ghastly stain. ** + +What words can drown that bitter cry? +What tears wash out the stain of death? +What oaths confirm your broken faith? + +From you alone the guaranty +Of union, freedom, peace, we claim; +We urge no conqueror's terms of shame. + +Alas! no victor's pride is ours; +We bend above our triumphs won +Like David o'er his rebel son. + +Be men, not beggars. Cancel all +By one brave, generous action; trust +Your better instincts, and be just. + +Make all men peers before the law, +Take hands from off the negro's throat, +Give black and white an equal vote. + +Keep all your forfeit lives and lands, +But give the common law's redress +To labor's utter nakedness. + +Revive the old heroic will; +Be in the right as brave and strong +As ye have proved yourselves in wrong. + +Defeat shall then be victory, +Your loss the wealth of full amends, +And hate be love, and foes be friends. + +Then buried be the dreadful past, +Its common slain be mourned, and let +All memories soften to regret. + +Then shall the Union's mother-heart +Her lost and wandering ones recall, +Forgiving and restoring all,-- + +And Freedom break her marble trance +Above the Capitolian dome, +Stretch hands, and bid ye welcome home +November, 1865. + +* Andersonville prison. +** The massacre of Negro troops at Fort Pillow. + + +THE HIVE AT GETTYSBURG. + +IN the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame, +So terrible alive, +Bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became +The wandering wild bees' hive; +And he who, lone and naked-handed, tore +Those jaws of death apart, +In after time drew forth their honeyed store +To strengthen his strong heart. + +Dead seemed the legend: but it only slept +To wake beneath our sky; +Just on the spot whence ravening Treason crept +Back to its lair to die, +Bleeding and torn from Freedom's mountain bounds, +A stained and shattered drum +Is now the hive where, on their flowery rounds, +The wild bees go and come. + +Unchallenged by a ghostly sentinel, +They wander wide and far, +Along green hillsides, sown with shot and shell, +Through vales once choked with war. +The low reveille of their battle-drum +Disturbs no morning prayer; +With deeper peace in summer noons their hum +Fills all the drowsy air. + +And Samson's riddle is our own to-day, +Of sweetness from the strong, +Of union, peace, and freedom plucked away +From the rent jaws of wrong. +From Treason's death we draw a purer life, +As, from the beast he slew, +A sweetness sweeter for his bitter strife +The old-time athlete drew! +1868. + + + + +HOWARD AT ATLANTA. + +RIGHT in the track where Sherman +Ploughed his red furrow, +Out of the narrow cabin, +Up from the cellar's burrow, +Gathered the little black people, +With freedom newly dowered, +Where, beside their Northern teacher, +Stood the soldier, Howard. + +He listened and heard the children +Of the poor and long-enslaved +Reading the words of Jesus, +Singing the songs of David. +Behold!--the dumb lips speaking, +The blind eyes seeing! +Bones of the Prophet's vision +Warmed into being! + +Transformed he saw them passing +Their new life's portal +Almost it seemed the mortal +Put on the immortal. +No more with the beasts of burden, +No more with stone and clod, +But crowned with glory and honor +In the image of God! + +There was the human chattel +Its manhood taking; +There, in each dark, bronze statue, +A soul was waking! +The man of many battles, +With tears his eyelids pressing, +Stretched over those dusky foreheads +His one-armed blessing. + +And he said: "Who hears can never +Fear for or doubt you; +What shall I tell the children +Up North about you?" +Then ran round a whisper, a murmur, +Some answer devising: +And a little boy stood up: "General, +Tell 'em we're rising!" + +O black boy of Atlanta! +But half was spoken +The slave's chain and the master's +Alike are broken. +The one curse of the races +Held both in tether +They are rising,--all are rising, +The black and white together! + +O brave men and fair women! +Ill comes of hate and scorning +Shall the dark faces only +Be turned to mourning?-- +Make Time your sole avenger, +All-healing, all-redressing; +Meet Fate half-way, and make it +A joy and blessing! +1869. + + + + +THE EMANCIPATION GROUP. + +Moses Kimball, a citizen of Boston, presented to the city a duplicate +of the Freedman's Memorial statue erected in Lincoln Square, Washington. +The group, which stands in Park Square, represents the figure of a +slave, from whose limbs the broken fetters have fallen, kneeling in +gratitude at the feet of Lincoln. The group was designed by Thomas Ball, +and was unveiled December 9, 1879. These verses were written for the +occasion. + +AMIDST thy sacred effigies +Of old renown give place, +O city, Freedom-loved! to his +Whose hand unchained a race. + +Take the worn frame, that rested not +Save in a martyr's grave; +The care-lined face, that none forgot, +Bent to the kneeling slave. + +Let man be free! The mighty word +He spake was not his own; +An impulse from the Highest stirred +These chiselled lips alone. + +The cloudy sign, the fiery guide, +Along his pathway ran, +And Nature, through his voice, denied +The ownership of man. + +We rest in peace where these sad eyes +Saw peril, strife, and pain; +His was the nation's sacrifice, +And ours the priceless gain. + +O symbol of God's will on earth +As it is done above! +Bear witness to the cost and worth +Of justice and of love. + +Stand in thy place and testify +To coming ages long, +That truth is stronger than a lie, +And righteousness than wrong. + + + + +THE JUBILEE SINGERS. + +A number of students of Fisk University, under the direction of one of +the officers, gave a series of concerts in the Northern States, for the +purpose of establishing the college on a firmer financial foundation. +Their hymns and songs, mostly in a minor key, touched the hearts of the +people, and were received as peculiarly expressive of a race delivered +from bondage. + +VOICE of a people suffering long, +The pathos of their mournful song, +The sorrow of their night of wrong! + +Their cry like that which Israel gave, +A prayer for one to guide and save, +Like Moses by the Red Sea's wave! + +The stern accord her timbrel lent +To Miriam's note of triumph sent +O'er Egypt's sunken armament! + +The tramp that startled camp and town, +And shook the walls of slavery down, +The spectral march of old John Brown! + +The storm that swept through battle-days, +The triumph after long delays, +The bondmen giving God the praise! + +Voice of a ransomed race, sing on +Till Freedom's every right is won, +And slavery's every wrong undone +1880. + + + + +GARRISON. + +The earliest poem in this division was my youthful tribute to the great +reformer when himself a young man he was first sounding his trumpet in +Essex County. I close with the verses inscribed to him at the end of his +earthly career, May 24, 1879. My poetical service in the cause of +freedom is thus almost synchronous with his life of devotion to the +same cause. + +THE storm and peril overpast, +The hounding hatred shamed and still, +Go, soul of freedom! take at last +The place which thou alone canst fill. + +Confirm the lesson taught of old-- +Life saved for self is lost, while they +Who lose it in His service hold +The lease of God's eternal day. + +Not for thyself, but for the slave +Thy words of thunder shook the world; +No selfish griefs or hatred gave +The strength wherewith thy bolts were hurled. + +From lips that Sinai's trumpet blew +We heard a tender under song; +Thy very wrath from pity grew, +From love of man thy hate of wrong. + +Now past and present are as one; +The life below is life above; +Thy mortal years have but begun +Thy immortality of love. + +With somewhat of thy lofty faith +We lay thy outworn garment by, +Give death but what belongs to death, +And life the life that cannot die! + +Not for a soul like thine the calm +Of selfish ease and joys of sense; +But duty, more than crown or palm, +Its own exceeding recompense. + +Go up and on thy day well done, +Its morning promise well fulfilled, +Arise to triumphs yet unwon, +To holier tasks that God has willed. + +Go, leave behind thee all that mars +The work below of man for man; +With the white legions of the stars +Do service such as angels can. + +Wherever wrong shall right deny +Or suffering spirits urge their plea, +Be thine a voice to smite the lie, +A hand to set the captive free! + + + + + + + SONGS OF LABOR AND REFORM + + +THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. + +THE Quaker of the olden time! +How calm and firm and true, +Unspotted by its wrong and crime, +He walked the dark earth through. +The lust of power, the love of gain, +The thousand lures of sin +Around him, had no power to stain +The purity within. + +With that deep insight which detects +All great things in the small, +And knows how each man's life affects +The spiritual life of all, +He walked by faith and not by sight, +By love and not by law; +The presence of the wrong or right +He rather felt than saw. + +He felt that wrong with wrong partakes, +That nothing stands alone, +That whoso gives the motive, makes +His brother's sin his own. +And, pausing not for doubtful choice +Of evils great or small, +He listened to that inward voice +Which called away from all. + +O Spirit of that early day, +So pure and strong and true, +Be with us in the narrow way +Our faithful fathers knew. +Give strength the evil to forsake, +The cross of Truth to bear, +And love and reverent fear to make +Our daily lives a prayer! +1838. + + + + +DEMOCRACY. + +All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so +to them.--MATTHEW vii. 12. + +BEARER of Freedom's holy light, +Breaker of Slavery's chain and rod, +The foe of all which pains the sight, +Or wounds the generous ear of God! + +Beautiful yet thy temples rise, +Though there profaning gifts are thrown; +And fires unkindled of the skies +Are glaring round thy altar-stone. + +Still sacred, though thy name be breathed +By those whose hearts thy truth deride; +And garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed +Around the haughty brows of Pride. + +Oh, ideal of my boyhood's time! +The faith in which my father stood, +Even when the sons of Lust and Crime +Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood! + +Still to those courts my footsteps turn, +For through the mists which darken there, +I see the flame of Freedom burn,-- +The Kebla of the patriot's prayer! + +The generous feeling, pure and warm, +Which owns the right of all divine; +The pitying heart, the helping arm, +The prompt self-sacrifice, are thine. + +Beneath thy broad, impartial eye, +How fade the lines of caste and birth! +How equal in their suffering lie +The groaning multitudes of earth! + +Still to a stricken brother true, +Whatever clime hath nurtured him; +As stooped to heal the wounded Jew +The worshipper of Gerizim. + +By misery unrepelled, unawed +By pomp or power, thou seest a Man +In prince or peasant, slave or lord, +Pale priest, or swarthy artisan. + +Through all disguise, form, place, or name, +Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, +Through poverty and squalid shame, +Thou lookest on the man within. + +On man, as man, retaining yet, +Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim, +The crown upon his forehead set, +The immortal gift of God to him. + +And there is reverence in thy look; +For that frail form which mortals wear +The Spirit of the Holiest took, +And veiled His perfect brightness there. + +Not from the shallow babbling fount +Of vain philosophy thou art; +He who of old on Syria's Mount +Thrilled, warmed, by turns, the listener's heart, + +In holy words which cannot die, +In thoughts which angels leaned to know, +Proclaimed thy message from on high, +Thy mission to a world of woe. + +That voice's echo hath not died! +From the blue lake of Galilee, +And Tabor's lonely mountain-side, +It calls a struggling world to thee. + +Thy name and watchword o'er this land +I hear in every breeze that stirs, +And round a thousand altars stand +Thy banded party worshippers. + +Not, to these altars of a day, +At party's call, my gift I bring; +But on thy olden shrine I lay +A freeman's dearest offering. + +The voiceless utterance of his will,-- +His pledge to Freedom and to Truth, +That manhood's heart remembers still +The homage of his generous youth. +Election Day, 1841 + + + + +THE GALLOWS. + +Written on reading pamphlets published by clergymen against the +abolition of the gallows. + +I. +THE suns of eighteen centuries have shone +Since the Redeemer walked with man, and made +The fisher's boat, the cavern's floor of stone, +And mountain moss, a pillow for His head; +And He, who wandered with the peasant Jew, +And broke with publicans the bread of shame, +And drank with blessings, in His Father's name, +The water which Samaria's outcast drew, +Hath now His temples upon every shore, +Altar and shrine and priest; and incense dim +Evermore rising, with low prayer and hymn, +From lips which press the temple's marble floor, +Or kiss the gilded sign of the dread cross He bore. + + +II. +Yet as of old, when, meekly "doing good," +He fed a blind and selfish multitude, +And even the poor companions of His lot +With their dim earthly vision knew Him not, +How ill are His high teachings understood +Where He hath spoken Liberty, the priest +At His own altar binds the chain anew; +Where He hath bidden to Life's equal feast, +The starving many wait upon the few; +Where He hath spoken Peace, His name hath been +The loudest war-cry of contending men; +Priests, pale with vigils, in His name have blessed +The unsheathed sword, and laid the spear in rest, +Wet the war-banner with their sacred wine, +And crossed its blazon with the holy sign; +Yea, in His name who bade the erring live, +And daily taught His lesson, to forgive! +Twisted the cord and edged the murderous steel; +And, with His words of mercy on their lips, +Hung gloating o'er the pincer's burning grips, +And the grim horror of the straining wheel; +Fed the slow flame which gnawed the victim's limb, +Who saw before his searing eyeballs swim +The image of their Christ in cruel zeal, +Through the black torment-smoke, held mockingly to him! + + +III. +The blood which mingled with the desert sand, +And beaded with its red and ghastly dew +The vines and olives of the Holy Land; +The shrieking curses of the hunted Jew; +The white-sown bones of heretics, where'er +They sank beneath the Crusade's holy spear; +Goa's dark dungeons, Malta's sea-washed cell, +Where with the hymns the ghostly fathers sung +Mingled the groans by subtle torture wrung, +Heaven's anthem blending with the shriek of hell! +The midnight of Bartholomew, the stake +Of Smithfield, and that thrice-accursed flame +Which Calvin kindled by Geneva's lake; +New England's scaffold, and the priestly sneer +Which mocked its victims in that hour of fear, +When guilt itself a human tear might claim,-- +Bear witness, O Thou wronged and merciful One! +That Earth's most hateful crimes have in Thy +name been done! + + +IV. +Thank God! that I have lived to see the time +When the great truth begins at last to find +An utterance from the deep heart of mankind, +Earnest and clear, that all Revenge is Crime, +That man is holier than a creed, that all +Restraint upon him must consult his good, +Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall, +And Love look in upon his solitude. +The beautiful lesson which our Saviour taught +Through long, dark centuries its way hath wrought +Into the common mind and popular thought; +And words, to which by Galilee's lake shore +The humble fishers listened with hushed oar, +Have found an echo in the general heart, +And of the public faith become a living part. + + +V. +Who shall arrest this tendency? Bring back +The cells of Venice and the bigot's rack? +Harden the softening human heart again +To cold indifference to a brother's pain? +Ye most unhappy men! who, turned away +From the mild sunshine of the Gospel day, +Grope in the shadows of Man's twilight time, +What mean ye, that with ghoul-like zest ye brood, +O'er those foul altars streaming with warm blood, +Permitted in another age and clime? +Why cite that law with which the bigot Jew +Rebuked the Pagan's mercy, when he knew +No evil in the Just One? Wherefore turn +To the dark, cruel past? Can ye not learn +From the pure Teacher's life how mildly free +Is the great Gospel of Humanity? +The Flamen's knife is bloodless, and no more +Mexitli's altars soak with human gore, +No more the ghastly sacrifices smoke +Through the green arches of the Druid's oak; +And ye of milder faith, with your high claim +Of prophet-utterance in the Holiest name, +Will ye become the Druids of our time +Set up your scaffold-altars in our land, +And, consecrators of Law's darkest crime, +Urge to its loathsome work the hangman's hand? +Beware, lest human nature, roused at last, +From its peeled shoulder your encumbrance cast, +And, sick to loathing of your cry for blood, +Rank ye with those who led their victims round +The Celt's red altar and the Indian's mound, +Abhorred of Earth and Heaven, a pagan brotherhood! +1842. + + + + +SEED-TIME AND HARVEST. + +As o'er his furrowed fields which lie +Beneath a coldly dropping sky, +Yet chill with winter's melted snow, +The husbandman goes forth to sow, + +Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast +The ventures of thy seed we cast, +And trust to warmer sun and rain +To swell the germs and fill the grain. + +Who calls thy glorious service hard? +Who deems it not its own reward? +Who, for its trials, counts it less. +A cause of praise and thankfulness? + +It may not be our lot to wield +The sickle in the ripened field; +Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, +The reaper's song among the sheaves. + +Yet where our duty's task is wrought +In unison with God's great thought, +The near and future blend in one, +And whatsoe'er is willed, is done! + +And ours the grateful service whence +Comes day by day the recompense; +The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, +The fountain and the noonday shade. + +And were this life the utmost span, +The only end and aim of man, +Better the toil of fields like these +Than waking dream and slothful ease. + +But life, though falling like our grain, +Like that revives and springs again; +And, early called, how blest are they +Who wait in heaven their harvest-day! +1843. + + + + +TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND. +This poem was addressed to those who like Richard Cobden and John Bright +were seeking the reform of political evils in Great Britain by peaceful +and Christian means. It will be remembered that the Anti-Corn Law League +was in the midst of its labors at this time. + +GOD bless ye, brothers! in the fight +Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail, +For better is your sense of right +Than king-craft's triple mail. + +Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban, +More mighty is your simplest word; +The free heart of an honest man +Than crosier or the sword. + +Go, let your blinded Church rehearse +The lesson it has learned so well; +It moves not with its prayer or curse +The gates of heaven or hell. + +Let the State scaffold rise again; +Did Freedom die when Russell died? +Forget ye how the blood of Vane +From earth's green bosom cried? + +The great hearts of your olden time +Are beating with you, full and strong; +All holy memories and sublime +And glorious round ye throng. + +The bluff, bold men of Runnymede +Are with ye still in times like these; +The shades of England's mighty dead, +Your cloud of witnesses! + +The truths ye urge are borne abroad +By every wind and every tide; +The voice of Nature and of God +Speaks out upon your side. + +The weapons which your hands have found +Are those which Heaven itself has wrought, +Light, Truth, and Love; your battle-ground +The free, broad field of Thought. + +No partial, selfish purpose breaks +The simple beauty of your plan, +Nor lie from throne or altar shakes +Your steady faith in man. + +The languid pulse of England starts +And bounds beneath your words of power, +The beating of her million hearts +Is with you at this hour! + +O ye who, with undoubting eyes, +Through present cloud and gathering storm, +Behold the span of Freedom's skies, +And sunshine soft and warm; + +Press bravely onward! not in vain +Your generous trust in human-kind; +The good which bloodshed could not gain +Your peaceful zeal shall find. + +Press on! the triumph shall be won +Of common rights and equal laws, +The glorious dream of Harrington, +And Sidney's good old cause. + +Blessing the cotter and the crown, +Sweetening worn Labor's bitter cup; +And, plucking not the highest down, +Lifting the lowest up. + +Press on! and we who may not share +The toil or glory of your fight +May ask, at least, in earnest prayer, +God's blessing on the right! +1843. + + + + +THE HUMAN SACRIFICE. + +Some leading sectarian papers had lately published the letter of a +clergyman, giving an account of his attendance upon a criminal (who had +committed murder during a fit of intoxication), at the time of his +execution, in western New York. The writer describes the agony of the +wretched being, his abortive attempts at prayer, his appeal for life, +his fear of a violent death; and, after declaring his belief that the +poor victim died without hope of salvation, concludes with a warm eulogy +upon the gallows, being more than ever convinced of its utility by the +awful dread and horror which it inspired. + +I. +FAR from his close and noisome cell, +By grassy lane and sunny stream, +Blown clover field and strawberry dell, +And green and meadow freshness, fell +The footsteps of his dream. +Again from careless feet the dew +Of summer's misty morn he shook; +Again with merry heart he threw +His light line in the rippling brook. +Back crowded all his school-day joys; +He urged the ball and quoit again, +And heard the shout of laughing boys +Come ringing down the walnut glen. +Again he felt the western breeze, +With scent of flowers and crisping hay; +And down again through wind-stirred trees +He saw the quivering sunlight play. +An angel in home's vine-hung door, +He saw his sister smile once more; +Once more the truant's brown-locked head +Upon his mother's knees was laid, +And sweetly lulled to slumber there, +With evening's holy hymn and prayer! + +II. +He woke. At once on heart and brain +The present Terror rushed again; +Clanked on his limbs the felon's chain +He woke, to hear the church-tower tell +Time's footfall on the conscious bell, +And, shuddering, feel that clanging din +His life's last hour had ushered in; +To see within his prison-yard, +Through the small window, iron barred, +The gallows shadow rising dim +Between the sunrise heaven and him; +A horror in God's blessed air; +A blackness in his morning light; +Like some foul devil-altar there +Built up by demon hands at night. +And, maddened by that evil sight, +Dark, horrible, confused, and strange, +A chaos of wild, weltering change, +All power of check and guidance gone, +Dizzy and blind, his mind swept on. +In vain he strove to breathe a prayer, +In vain he turned the Holy Book, +He only heard the gallows-stair +Creak as the wind its timbers shook. +No dream for him of sin forgiven, +While still that baleful spectre stood, +With its hoarse murmur, "Blood for Blood!" +Between him and the pitying Heaven. + +III. +Low on his dungeon floor he knelt, +And smote his breast, and on his chain, +Whose iron clasp he always felt, +His hot tears fell like rain; +And near him, with the cold, calm look +And tone of one whose formal part, +Unwarmed, unsoftened of the heart, +Is measured out by rule and book, +With placid lip and tranquil blood, +The hangman's ghostly ally stood, +Blessing with solemn text and word +The gallows-drop and strangling cord; +Lending the sacred Gospel's awe +And sanction to the crime of Law. + +IV. +He saw the victim's tortured brow, +The sweat of anguish starting there, +The record of a nameless woe +In the dim eye's imploring stare, +Seen hideous through the long, damp hair,-- +Fingers of ghastly skin and bone +Working and writhing on the stone! +And heard, by mortal terror wrung +From heaving breast and stiffened tongue, +The choking sob and low hoarse prayer; +As o'er his half-crazed fancy came +A vision of the eternal flame, +Its smoking cloud of agonies, +Its demon-worm that never dies, +The everlasting rise and fall +Of fire-waves round the infernal wall; +While high above that dark red flood, +Black, giant-like, the gallows stood; +Two busy fiends attending there +One with cold mocking rite and prayer, +The other with impatient grasp, +Tightening the death-rope's strangling clasp. + +V. +The unfelt rite at length was done, +The prayer unheard at length was said, +An hour had passed: the noonday sun +Smote on the features of the dead! +And he who stood the doomed beside, +Calm gauger of the swelling tide +Of mortal agony and fear, +Heeding with curious eye and ear +Whate'er revealed the keen excess +Of man's extremest wretchedness +And who in that dark anguish saw +An earnest of the victim's fate, +The vengeful terrors of God's law, +The kindlings of Eternal hate, +The first drops of that fiery rain +Which beats the dark red realm of pain, +Did he uplift his earnest cries +Against the crime of Law, which gave +His brother to that fearful grave, +Whereon Hope's moonlight never lies, +And Faith's white blossoms never wave +To the soft breath of Memory's sighs; +Which sent a spirit marred and stained, +By fiends of sin possessed, profaned, +In madness and in blindness stark, +Into the silent, unknown dark? +No, from the wild and shrinking dread, +With which he saw the victim led +Beneath the dark veil which divides +Ever the living from the dead, +And Nature's solemn secret hides, +The man of prayer can only draw +New reasons for his bloody law; +New faith in staying Murder's hand +By murder at that Law's command; +New reverence for the gallows-rope, +As human nature's latest hope; +Last relic of the good old time, +When Power found license for its crime, +And held a writhing world in check +By that fell cord about its neck; +Stifled Sedition's rising shout, +Choked the young breath of Freedom out, +And timely checked the words which sprung +From Heresy's forbidden tongue; +While in its noose of terror bound, +The Church its cherished union found, +Conforming, on the Moslem plan, +The motley-colored mind of man, +Not by the Koran and the Sword, +But by the Bible and the Cord. + +VI. +O Thou at whose rebuke the grave +Back to warm life its sleeper gave, +Beneath whose sad and tearful glance +The cold and changed countenance +Broke the still horror of its trance, +And, waking, saw with joy above, +A brother's face of tenderest love; +Thou, unto whom the blind and lame, +The sorrowing and the sin-sick came, +And from Thy very garment's hem +Drew life and healing unto them, +The burden of Thy holy faith +Was love and life, not hate and death; +Man's demon ministers of pain, +The fiends of his revenge, were sent +From thy pure Gospel's element +To their dark home again. +Thy name is Love! What, then, is he, +Who in that name the gallows rears, +An awful altar built to Thee, +With sacrifice of blood and tears? +Oh, once again Thy healing lay +On the blind eyes which knew Thee not, +And let the light of Thy pure day +Melt in upon his darkened thought. +Soften his hard, cold heart, and show +The power which in forbearance lies, +And let him feel that mercy now +Is better than old sacrifice. + +VII. +As on the White Sea's charmed shore, +The Parsee sees his holy hill [10] +With dunnest smoke-clouds curtained o'er, +Yet knows beneath them, evermore, +The low, pale fire is quivering still; +So, underneath its clouds of sin, +The heart of man retaineth yet +Gleams of its holy origin; +And half-quenched stars that never set, +Dim colors of its faded bow, +And early beauty, linger there, +And o'er its wasted desert blow +Faint breathings of its morning air. +Oh, never yet upon the scroll +Of the sin-stained, but priceless soul, +Hath Heaven inscribed "Despair!" +Cast not the clouded gem away, +Quench not the dim but living ray,-- +My brother man, Beware! +With that deep voice which from the skies +Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice, +God's angel cries, Forbear +1843 + + + + + + +SONGS OF LABOR. + +DEDICATION. + +Prefixed to the volume of which the group of six poems following this +prelude constituted the first portion. + +I WOULD the gift I offer here +Might graces from thy favor take, +And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, +On softened lines and coloring, wear +The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. + +Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain +But what I have I give to thee, +The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, +And paler flowers, the latter rain +Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. + +Above the fallen groves of green, +Where youth's enchanted forest stood, +Dry root and mossed trunk between, +A sober after-growth is seen, +As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood! + +Yet birds will sing, and breezes play +Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree; +And through the bleak and wintry day +It keeps its steady green alway,-- +So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. + +Art's perfect forms no moral need, +And beauty is its own excuse; +But for the dull and flowerless weed +Some healing virtue still must plead, +And the rough ore must find its honors in its use. + +So haply these, my simple lays +Of homely toil, may serve to show +The orchard bloom and tasselled maize +That skirt and gladden duty's ways, +The unsung beauty hid life's common things below. + +Haply from them the toiler, bent +Above his forge or plough, may gain, +A manlier spirit of content, +And feel that life is wisest spent +Where the strong working hand makes strong the +working brain. + +The doom which to the guilty pair +Without the walls of Eden came, +Transforming sinless ease to care +And rugged toil, no more shall bear +The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. + +A blessing now, a curse no more; +Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, +The coarse mechanic vesture wore, +A poor man toiling with the poor, +In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. +1850. + + + + +THE SHOEMAKERS. + +Ho! workers of the old time styled +The Gentle Craft of Leather +Young brothers of the ancient guild, +Stand forth once more together! +Call out again your long array, +In the olden merry manner +Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, +Fling out your blazoned banner! + +Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone +How falls the polished hammer +Rap, rap I the measured sound has grown +A quick and merry clamor. +Now shape the sole! now deftly curl +The glossy vamp around it, +And bless the while the bright-eyed girl +Whose gentle fingers bound it! + +For you, along the Spanish main +A hundred keels are ploughing; +For you, the Indian on the plain +His lasso-coil is throwing; +For you, deep glens with hemlock dark +The woodman's fire is lighting; +For you, upon the oak's gray bark, +The woodman's axe is smiting. + +For you, from Carolina's pine +The rosin-gum is stealing; +For you, the dark-eyed Florentine +Her silken skein is reeling; +For you, the dizzy goatherd roams +His rugged Alpine ledges; +For you, round all her shepherd homes, +Bloom England's thorny hedges. + +The foremost still, by day or night, +On moated mound or heather, +Where'er the need of trampled right +Brought toiling men together; +Where the free burghers from the wall +Defied the mail-clad master, +Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, +No craftsmen rallied faster. + +Let foplings sneer, let fools deride, +Ye heed no idle scorner; +Free hands and hearts are still your pride, +And duty done, your honor. +Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, +The jury Time empanels, +And leave to truth each noble name +Which glorifies your annals. + +Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are living yet, +In strong and hearty German; +And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit, +And patriot fame of Sherman; +Still from his book, a mystic seer, +The soul of Behmen teaches, +And England's priestcraft shakes to hear +Of Fox's leathern breeches. + +The foot is yours; where'er it falls, +It treads your well-wrought leather, +On earthen floor, in marble halls, +On carpet, or on heather. +Still there the sweetest charm is found +Of matron grace or vestal's, +As Hebe's foot bore nectar round +Among the old celestials. + +Rap, rap!--your stout and bluff brogan, +With footsteps slow and weary, +May wander where the sky's blue span +Shuts down upon the prairie. +On Beauty's foot your slippers glance, +By Saratoga's fountains, +Or twinkle down the summer dance +Beneath the Crystal Mountains! + +The red brick to the mason's hand, +The brown earth to the tiller's, +The shoe in yours shall wealth command, +Like fairy Cinderella's! +As they who shunned the household maid +Beheld the crown upon her, +So all shall see your toil repaid +With hearth and home and honor. + +Then let the toast be freely quaffed, +In water cool and brimming,-- +"All honor to the good old Craft, +Its merry men and women!" +Call out again your long array, +In the old time's pleasant manner +Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, +Fling out his blazoned banner! +1845. + + + + +THE FISHERMEN. + +HURRAH! the seaward breezes +Sweep down the bay amain; +Heave up, my lads, the anchor! +Run up the sail again +Leave to the lubber landsmen +The rail-car and the steed; +The stars of heaven shall guide us, +The breath of heaven shall speed. + +From the hill-top looks the steeple, +And the lighthouse from the sand; +And the scattered pines are waving +Their farewell from the land. +One glance, my lads, behind us, +For the homes we leave one sigh, +Ere we take the change and chances +Of the ocean and the sky. + +Now, brothers, for the icebergs +Of frozen Labrador, +Floating spectral in the moonshine, +Along the low, black shore! +Where like snow the gannet's feathers +On Brador's rocks are shed, +And the noisy murr are flying, +Like black scuds, overhead; + +Where in mist tie rock is hiding, +And the sharp reef lurks below, +And the white squall smites in summer, +And the autumn tempests blow; +Where, through gray and rolling vapor, +From evening unto morn, +A thousand boats are hailing, +Horn answering unto horn. + +Hurrah! for the Red Island, +With the white cross on its crown +Hurrah! for Meccatina, +And its mountains bare and brown! +Where the Caribou's tall antlers +O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, +And the footstep of the Mickmack +Has no sound upon the moss. + +There we'll drop our lines, and gather +Old Ocean's treasures in, +Where'er the mottled mackerel +Turns up a steel-dark fin. +The sea's our field of harvest, +Its scaly tribes our grain; +We'll reap the teeming waters +As at home they reap the plain. + +Our wet hands spread the carpet, +And light the hearth of home; +From our fish, as in the old time, +The silver coin shall come. +As the demon fled the chamber +Where the fish of Tobit lay, +So ours from all our dwellings +Shall frighten Want away. + +Though the mist upon our jackets +In the bitter air congeals, +And our lines wind stiff and slowly +From off the frozen reels; +Though the fog be dark around us, +And the storm blow high and loud, +We will whistle down the wild wind, +And laugh beneath the cloud! + +In the darkness as in daylight, +On the water as on land, +God's eye is looking on us, +And beneath us is His hand! +Death will find us soon or later, +On the deck or in the cot; +And we cannot meet him better +Than in working out our lot. + +Hurrah! hurrah! the west-wind +Comes freshening down the bay, +The rising sails are filling; +Give way, my lads, give way! +Leave the coward landsman clinging +To the dull earth, like a weed; +The stars of heaven shall guide us, +The breath of heaven shall speed! +1845. + + + + +THE LUMBERMEN. + +WILDLY round our woodland quarters +Sad-voiced Autumn grieves; +Thickly down these swelling waters +Float his fallen leaves. +Through the tall and naked timber, +Column-like and old, +Gleam the sunsets of November, +From their skies of gold. + +O'er us, to the southland heading, +Screams the gray wild-goose; +On the night-frost sounds the treading +Of the brindled moose. +Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping, +Frost his task-work plies; +Soon, his icy bridges heaping, +Shall our log-piles rise. + +When, with sounds of smothered thunder, +On some night of rain, +Lake and river break asunder +Winter's weakened chain, +Down the wild March flood shall bear them +To the saw-mill's wheel, +Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them +With his teeth of steel. + +Be it starlight, be it moonlight, +In these vales below, +When the earliest beams of sunlight +Streak the mountain's snow, +Crisps the boar-frost, keen and early, +To our hurrying feet, +And the forest echoes clearly +All our blows repeat. + +Where the crystal Ambijejis +Stretches broad and clear, +And Millnoket's pine-black ridges +Hide the browsing deer +Where, through lakes and wide morasses, +Or through rocky walls, +Swift and strong, Penobscot passes +White with foamy falls; + +Where, through clouds, are glimpses given +Of Katahdin's sides,-- +Rock and forest piled to heaven, +Torn and ploughed by slides! +Far below, the Indian trapping, +In the sunshine warm; +Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping +Half the peak in storm! + +Where are mossy carpets better +Than the Persian weaves, +And than Eastern perfumes sweeter +Seem the fading leaves; +And a music wild and solemn, +From the pine-tree's height, +Rolls its vast and sea-like volume +On the wind of night; + +Make we here our camp of winter; +And, through sleet and snow, +Pitchy knot and beechen splinter +On our hearth shall glow. +Here, with mirth to lighten duty, +We shall lack alone +Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, +Childhood's lisping tone. + +But their hearth is brighter burning +For our toil to-day; +And the welcome of returning +Shall our loss repay, +When, like seamen from the waters, +From the woods we come, +Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, +Angels of our home! + +Not for us the measured ringing +From the village spire, +Not for us the Sabbath singing +Of the sweet-voiced choir, +Ours the old, majestic temple, +Where God's brightness shines +Down the dome so grand and ample, +Propped by lofty pines! + +Through each branch-enwoven skylight, +Speaks He in the breeze, +As of old beneath the twilight +Of lost Eden's trees! +For His ear, the inward feeling +Needs no outward tongue; +He can see the spirit kneeling +While the axe is swung. + +Heeding truth alone, and turning +From the false and dim, +Lamp of toil or altar burning +Are alike to Him. +Strike, then, comrades! Trade is waiting +On our rugged toil; +Far ships waiting for the freighting +Of our woodland spoil. + +Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, +Bleak and cold, of ours, +With the citron-planted islands +Of a clime of flowers; +To our frosts the tribute bringing +Of eternal heats; +In our lap of winter flinging +Tropic fruits and sweets. + +Cheerly, on the axe of labor, +Let the sunbeams dance, +Better than the flash of sabre +Or the gleam of lance! +Strike! With every blow is given +Freer sun and sky, +And the long-hid earth to heaven +Looks, with wondering eye! + +Loud behind us grow the murmurs +Of the age to come; +Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, +Bearing harvest home! +Here her virgin lap with treasures +Shall the green earth fill; +Waving wheat and golden maize-ears +Crown each beechen hill. + +Keep who will the city's alleys +Take the smooth-shorn plain'; +Give to us the cedarn valleys, +Rocks and hills of Maine! +In our North-land, wild and woody, +Let us still have part +Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, +Hold us to thy heart! + +Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer +For thy breath of snow; +And our tread is all the firmer +For thy rocks below. +Freedom, hand in hand with labor, +Walketh strong and brave; +On the forehead of his neighbor +No man writeth Slave! + +Lo, the day breaks! old Katahdin's +Pine-trees show its fires, +While from these dim forest gardens +Rise their blackened spires. +Up, my comrades! up and doing! +Manhood's rugged play +Still renewing, bravely hewing +Through the world our way! +1845. + + + + +THE SHIP-BUILDERS + +THE sky is ruddy in the east, +The earth is gray below, +And, spectral in the river-mist, +The ship's white timbers show. +Then let the sounds of measured stroke +And grating saw begin; +The broad-axe to the gnarled oak, +The mallet to the pin! + +Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast, +The sooty smithy jars, +And fire-sparks, rising far and fast, +Are fading with the stars. +All day for us the smith shall stand +Beside that flashing forge; +All day for us his heavy hand +The groaning anvil scourge. + +From far-off hills, the panting team +For us is toiling near; +For us the raftsmen down the stream +Their island barges steer. +Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke +In forests old and still; +For us the century-circled oak +Falls crashing down his hill. + +Up! up! in nobler toil than ours +No craftsmen bear a part +We make of Nature's giant powers +The slaves of human Art. +Lay rib to rib and beam to beam, +And drive the treenails free; +Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam +Shall tempt the searching sea. + +Where'er the keel of our good ship +The sea's rough field shall plough; +Where'er her tossing spars shall drip +With salt-spray caught below; +That ship must heed her master's beck, +Her helm obey his hand, +And seamen tread her reeling deck +As if they trod the land. + +Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak +Of Northern ice may peel; +The sunken rock and coral peak +May grate along her keel; +And know we well the painted shell +We give to wind and wave, +Must float, the sailor's citadel, +Or sink, the sailor's grave. + +Ho! strike away the bars and blocks, +And set the good ship free! +Why lingers on these dusty rocks +The young bride of the sea? +Look! how she moves adown the grooves, +In graceful beauty now! +How lowly on the breast she loves +Sinks down her virgin prow. + +God bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze +Her snowy wing shall fan, +Aside the frozen Hebrides, +Or sultry Hindostan! +Where'er, in mart or on the main, +With peaceful flag unfurled, +She helps to wind the silken chain +Of commerce round the world! + +Speed on the ship! But let her bear +No merchandise of sin, +No groaning cargo of despair +Her roomy hold within; +No Lethean drug for Eastern lands, +Nor poison-draught for ours; +But honest fruits of toiling hands +And Nature's sun and showers. + +Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, +The Desert's golden sand, +The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, +The spice of Morning-land! +Her pathway on the open main +May blessings follow free, +And glad hearts welcome back again +Her white sails from the sea +1846. + + + + +THE DROVERS. + +THROUGH heat and cold, and shower and sun, +Still onward cheerly driving +There's life alone in duty done, +And rest alone in striving. +But see! the day is closing cool, +The woods are dim before us; +The white fog of the wayside pool +Is creeping slowly o'er us. + +The night is falling, comrades mine, +Our footsore beasts are weary, +And through yon elms the tavern sign +Looks out upon us cheery. +The landlord beckons from his door, +His beechen fire is glowing; +These ample barns, with feed in store, +Are filled to overflowing. + +From many a valley frowned across +By brows of rugged mountains; +From hillsides where, through spongy moss, +Gush out the river fountains; +From quiet farm-fields, green and low, +And bright with blooming clover; +From vales of corn the wandering crow +No richer hovers over; + +Day after day our way has been +O'er many a hill and hollow; +By lake and stream, by wood and glen, +Our stately drove we follow. +Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, +As smoke of battle o'er us, +Their white horns glisten in the sun, +Like plumes and crests before us. + +We see them slowly climb the hill, +As slow behind it sinking; +Or, thronging close, from roadside rill, +Or sunny lakelet, drinking. +Now crowding in the narrow road, +In thick and struggling masses, +They glare upon the teamster's load, +Or rattling coach that passes. + +Anon, with toss of horn and tail, +And paw of hoof, and bellow, +They leap some farmer's broken pale, +O'er meadow-close or fallow. +Forth comes the startled goodman; forth +Wife, children, house-dog, sally, +Till once more on their dusty path +The baffled truants rally. + +We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, +Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony, +Like those who grind their noses down +On pastures bare and stony,-- +Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, +And cows too lean for shadows, +Disputing feebly with the frogs +The crop of saw-grass meadows! + +In our good drove, so sleek and fair, +No bones of leanness rattle; +No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, +Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. +Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand +That fed him unrepining; +The fatness of a goodly land +In each dun hide is shining. + +We've sought them where, in warmest nooks, +The freshest feed is growing, +By sweetest springs and clearest brooks +Through honeysuckle flowing; +Wherever hillsides, sloping south, +Are bright with early grasses, +Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth, +The mountain streamlet passes. + +But now the day is closing cool, +The woods are dim before us, +The white fog of the wayside pool +Is creeping slowly o'er us. +The cricket to the frog's bassoon +His shrillest time is keeping; +The sickle of yon setting moon +The meadow-mist is reaping. + +The night is falling, comrades mine, +Our footsore beasts are weary, +And through yon elms the tavern sign +Looks out upon us cheery. +To-morrow, eastward with our charge +We'll go to meet the dawning, +Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge +Have seen the sun of morning. + +When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, +Instead of birds, are flitting; +When children throng the glowing hearth, +And quiet wives are knitting; +While in the fire-light strong and clear +Young eyes of pleasure glisten, +To tales of all we see and hear +The ears of home shall listen. + +By many a Northern lake and bill, +From many a mountain pasture, +Shall Fancy play the Drover still, +And speed the long night faster. +Then let us on, through shower and sun, +And heat and cold, be driving; +There 's life alone in duty done, +And rest alone in striving. +1847. + + + + +THE HUSKERS. + +IT was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain +Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again; +The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay +With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of May. + +Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red, +At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped; +Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued, +On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood. + +And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, +He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light; +Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill; +And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. + +And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, +Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why; +And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks, +Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks. + +From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks; +But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. +No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell, +And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. + +The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry, +Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye; +But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, +Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. + +Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, +Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear; +Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, +And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. + +There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain +Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain; +Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last, +And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed. + +And to! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond, +Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, +Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, +And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one! + +As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away, +And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay; +From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name, +Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came. + +Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, +Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below; +The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, +And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. + +Half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, +Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; +While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade, +At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played. + +Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, +Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair, +The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue, +To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking ballad sung. + +THE CORN-SONG. +Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard +Heap high the golden corn +No richer gift has Autumn poured +From out her lavish horn! + +Let other lands, exulting, glean +The apple from the pine, +The orange from its glossy green, +The cluster from the vine; + +We better love the hardy gift +Our rugged vales bestow, +To cheer us when the storm shall drift +Our harvest-fields with snow. + +Through vales of grass and mends of flowers +Our ploughs their furrows made, +While on the hills the sun and showers +Of changeful April played. + +We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain +Beneath the sun of May, +And frightened from our sprouting grain +The robber crows away. + +All through the long, bright days of June +Its leaves grew green and fair, +And waved in hot midsummer's noon +Its soft and yellow hair. + +And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, +Its harvest-time has come, +We pluck away the frosted leaves, +And bear the treasure home. + +There, when the snows about us drift, +And winter winds are cold, +Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, +And knead its meal of gold. + +Let vapid idlers loll in silk +Around their costly board; +Give us the bowl of samp and milk, +By homespun beauty poured! + +Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth +Sends up its smoky curls, +Who will not thank the kindly earth, +And bless our farmer girls! + +Then shame on all the proud and vain, +Whose folly laughs to scorn +The blessing of our hardy grain, +Our wealth of golden corn. + +Let earth withhold her goodly root, +Let mildew blight the rye, +Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, +The wheat-field to the fly. + +But let the good old crop adorn +The hills our fathers trod; +Still let us, for his golden corn, +Send up our thanks to God! +1847. + + + + +THE REFORMER. + +ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan, +I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, +Smiting the godless shrines of man +Along his path. + +The Church, beneath her trembling dome, +Essayed in vain her ghostly charm +Wealth shook within his gilded home +With strange alarm. + +Fraud from his secret chambers fled +Before the sunlight bursting in +Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head +To drown the din. + +"Spare," Art implored, "yon holy pile; +That grand, old, time-worn turret spare;" +Meek Reverence, kneeling in the aisle, +Cried out, "Forbear!" + +Gray-bearded Use, who, deaf and blind, +Groped for his old accustomed stone, +Leaned on his staff, and wept to find +His seat o'erthrown. + +Young Romance raised his dreamy eyes, +O'erhung with paly locks of gold,-- +"Why smite," he asked in sad surprise, +"The fair, the old?" + +Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke, +Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam; +Shuddering and sick of heart I woke, +As from a dream. + +I looked: aside the dust-cloud rolled, +The Waster seemed the Builder too; +Upspringing from the ruined Old +I saw the New. + +'T was but the ruin of the bad,-- +The wasting of the wrong and ill; +Whate'er of good the old time had +Was living still. + +Calm grew the brows of him I feared; +The frown which awed me passed away, +And left behind a smile which cheered +Like breaking day. + +The grain grew green on battle-plains, +O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow; +The slave stood forging from his chains +The spade and plough. + +Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay +And cottage windows, flower-entwined, +Looked out upon the peaceful bay +And hills behind. + +Through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red, +The lights on brimming crystal fell, +Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head +And mossy well. + +Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope, +Fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed, +And with the idle gallows-rope +The young child played. + +Where the doomed victim in his cell +Had counted o'er the weary hours, +Glad school-girls, answering to the bell, +Came crowned with flowers. + +Grown wiser for the lesson given, +I fear no longer, for I know +That, where the share is deepest driven, +The best fruits grow. + +The outworn rite, the old abuse, +The pious fraud transparent grown, +The good held captive in the use +Of wrong alone,-- + +These wait their doom, from that great law +Which makes the past time serve to-day; +And fresher life the world shall draw +From their decay. + +Oh, backward-looking son of time! +The new is old, the old is new, +The cycle of a change sublime +Still sweeping through. + +So wisely taught the Indian seer; +Destroying Seva, forming Brahm, +Who wake by turns Earth's love and fear, +Are one, the same. + +Idly as thou, in that old day +Thou mournest, did thy sire repine; +So, in his time, thy child grown gray +Shall sigh for thine. + +But life shall on and upward go; +Th' eternal step of Progress beats +To that great anthem, calm and slow, +Which God repeats. + +Take heart! the Waster builds again, +A charmed life old Goodness bath; +The tares may perish, but the grain +Is not for death. + +God works in all things; all obey +His first propulsion from the night +Wake thou and watch! the world is gray +With morning light! +1848. + + + + +THE PEACE CONVENTION AT BRUSSELS. + +STILL in thy streets, O Paris! doth the stain +Of blood defy the cleansing autumn rain; +Still breaks the smoke Messina's ruins through, +And Naples mourns that new Bartholomew, +When squalid beggary, for a dole of bread, +At a crowned murderer's beck of license, fed +The yawning trenches with her noble dead; +Still, doomed Vienna, through thy stately halls +The shell goes crashing and the red shot falls, +And, leagued to crush thee, on the Danube's side, +The bearded Croat and Bosniak spearman ride; +Still in that vale where Himalaya's snow +Melts round the cornfields and the vines below, +The Sikh's hot cannon, answering ball for ball, +Flames in the breach of Moultan's shattered wall; +On Chenab's side the vulture seeks the slain, +And Sutlej paints with blood its banks again. + +"What folly, then," the faithless critic cries, +With sneering lip, and wise world-knowing eyes, +"While fort to fort, and post to post, repeat +The ceaseless challenge of the war-drum's beat, +And round the green earth, to the church-bell's chime, +The morning drum-roll of the camp keeps time, +To dream of peace amidst a world in arms, +Of swords to ploughshares changed by Scriptural charms, +Of nations, drunken with the wine of blood, +Staggering to take the Pledge of Brotherhood, +Like tipplers answering Father Matthew's call; +The sullen Spaniard, and the mad-cap Gaul, +The bull-dog Briton, yielding but with life, +The Yankee swaggering with his bowie-knife, +The Russ, from banquets with the vulture shared, +The blood still dripping from his amber beard, +Quitting their mad Berserker dance to hear +The dull, meek droning of a drab-coat seer; +Leaving the sport of Presidents and Kings, +Where men for dice each titled gambler flings, +To meet alternate on the Seine and Thames, +For tea and gossip, like old country dames +No! let the cravens plead the weakling's cant, +Let Cobden cipher, and let Vincent rant, +Let Sturge preach peace to democratic throngs, +And Burritt, stammering through his hundred tongues, +Repeat, in all, his ghostly lessons o'er, +Timed to the pauses of the battery's roar; +Check Ban or Kaiser with the barricade +Of "Olive-leaves" and Resolutions made, +Spike guns with pointed Scripture-texts, and hope +To capsize navies with a windy trope; +Still shall the glory and the pomp of War +Along their train the shouting millions draw; +Still dusty Labor to the passing Brave +His cap shall doff, and Beauty's kerchief wave; +Still shall the bard to Valor tune his song, +Still Hero-worship kneel before the Strong; +Rosy and sleek, the sable-gowned divine, +O'er his third bottle of suggestive wine, +To plumed and sworded auditors, shall prove +Their trade accordant with the Law of Love; +And Church for State, and State for Church, shall fight, +And both agree, that "Might alone is Right!" +Despite of sneers like these, O faithful few, +Who dare to hold God's word and witness true, +Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil time, +And o'er the present wilderness of crime +Sees the calm future, with its robes of green, +Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft streams between,-- +Still keep the path which duty bids ye tread, +Though worldly wisdom shake the cautious head; +No truth from Heaven descends upon our sphere, +Without the greeting of the skeptic's sneer; +Denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall, +Common as dew and sunshine, over all." + +Then, o'er Earth's war-field, till the strife shall cease, +Like Morven's harpers, sing your song of peace; +As in old fable rang the Thracian's lyre, +Midst howl of fiends and roar of penal fire, +Till the fierce din to pleasing murmurs fell, +And love subdued the maddened heart of hell. +Lend, once again, that holy song a tongue, +Which the glad angels of the Advent sung, +Their cradle-anthem for the Saviour's birth, +Glory to God, and peace unto the earth +Through the mad discord send that calming word +Which wind and wave on wild Genesareth heard, +Lift in Christ's name his Cross against the Sword! +Not vain the vision which the prophets saw, +Skirting with green the fiery waste of war, +Through the hot sand-gleam, looming soft and calm +On the sky's rim, the fountain-shading palm. +Still lives for Earth, which fiends so long have trod, +The great hope resting on the truth of God,-- +Evil shall cease and Violence pass away, +And the tired world breathe free through a long +Sabbath day. +11th mo., 1848. + + + + +THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. + +Before the law authorizing imprisonment for debt had been abolished in +Massachusetts, a revolutionary pensioner was confined in Charlestown +jail for a debt of fourteen dollars, and on the fourth of July was seen +waving a handkerchief from the bars of his cell in honor of the day. + +Look on him! through his dungeon grate, +Feebly and cold, the morning light +Comes stealing round him, dim and late, +As if it loathed the sight. +Reclining on his strawy bed, +His hand upholds his drooping head; +His bloodless cheek is seamed and hard, +Unshorn his gray, neglected beard; +And o'er his bony fingers flow +His long, dishevelled locks of snow. +No grateful fire before him glows, +And yet the winter's breath is chill; +And o'er his half-clad person goes +The frequent ague thrill! +Silent, save ever and anon, +A sound, half murmur and half groan, +Forces apart the painful grip +Of the old sufferer's bearded lip; +Oh, sad and crushing is the fate +Of old age chained and desolate! + +Just God! why lies that old man there? +A murderer shares his prison bed, +Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair, +Gleam on him, fierce and red; +And the rude oath and heartless jeer +Fall ever on his loathing ear, +And, or in wakefulness or sleep, +Nerve, flesh, and pulses thrill and creep +Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb, +Crimson with murder, touches him! + +What has the gray-haired prisoner done? +Has murder stained his hands with gore? +Not so; his crime's a fouler one; +God made the old man poor! +For this he shares a felon's cell, +The fittest earthly type of hell +For this, the boon for which he poured +His young blood on the invader's sword, +And counted light the fearful cost; +His blood-gained liberty is lost! + +And so, for such a place of rest, +Old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain +On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest, +And Saratoga's plain? +Look forth, thou man of many scars, +Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars; +It must be joy, in sooth, to see +Yon monument upreared to thee; +Piled granite and a prison cell, +The land repays thy service well! + +Go, ring the bells and fire the guns, +And fling the starry banner out; +Shout "Freedom!" till your lisping ones +Give back their cradle-shout; +Let boastful eloquence declaim +Of honor, liberty, and fame; +Still let the poet's strain be heard, +With glory for each second word, +And everything with breath agree +To praise "our glorious liberty!" + +But when the patron cannon jars +That prison's cold and gloomy wall, +And through its grates the stripes and stars +Rise on the wind, and fall, +Think ye that prisoner's aged ear +Rejoices in the general cheer? +Think ye his dim and failing eye +Is kindled at your pageantry? +Sorrowing of soul, and chained of limb, +What is your carnival to him? + +Down with the law that binds him thus! +Unworthy freemen, let it find +No refuge from the withering curse +Of God and human-kind +Open the prison's living tomb, +And usher from its brooding gloom +The victims of your savage code +To the free sun and air of God; +No longer dare as crime to brand +The chastening of the Almighty's hand. +1849. + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN TOURISTS. + +The reader of the biography of William Allen, the philanthropic +associate of Clarkson and Romilly, cannot fail to admire his simple and +beautiful record of a tour through Europe, in the years 1818 and 1819, +in the company of his American friend, Stephen Grellett. + +No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest +Goaded from shore to shore; +No schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest, +The leaves of empire o'er. +Simple of faith, and bearing in their hearts +The love of man and God, +Isles of old song, the Moslem's ancient marts, +And Scythia's steppes, they trod. + +Where the long shadows of the fir and pine +In the night sun are cast, +And the deep heart of many a Norland mine +Quakes at each riving blast; +Where, in barbaric grandeur, Moskwa stands, +A baptized Scythian queen, +With Europe's arts and Asia's jewelled hands, +The North and East between! + +Where still, through vales of Grecian fable, stray +The classic forms of yore, +And beauty smiles, new risen from the spray, +And Dian weeps once more; +Where every tongue in Smyrna's mart resounds; +And Stamboul from the sea +Lifts her tall minarets over burial-grounds +Black with the cypress-tree. + +From Malta's temples to the gates of Rome, +Following the track of Paul, +And where the Alps gird round the Switzer's home +Their vast, eternal wall; +They paused not by the ruins of old time, +They scanned no pictures rare, +Nor lingered where the snow-locked mountains +climb +The cold abyss of air! + +But unto prisons, where men lay in chains, +To haunts where Hunger pined, +To kings and courts forgetful of the pains +And wants of human-kind, +Scattering sweet words, and quiet deeds of good, +Along their way, like flowers, +Or pleading, as Christ's freemen only could, +With princes and with powers; + +Their single aim the purpose to fulfil +Of Truth, from day to day, +Simply obedient to its guiding will, +They held their pilgrim way. +Yet dream not, hence, the beautiful and old +Were wasted on their sight, +Who in the school of Christ had learned to hold +All outward things aright. + +Not less to them the breath of vineyards blown +From off the Cyprian shore, +Not less for them the Alps in sunset shone, +That man they valued more. +A life of beauty lends to all it sees +The beauty of its thought; +And fairest forms and sweetest harmonies +Make glad its way, unsought. + +In sweet accordancy of praise and love, +The singing waters run; +And sunset mountains wear in light above +The smile of duty done; +Sure stands the promise,--ever to the meek +A heritage is given; +Nor lose they Earth who, single-hearted, seek +The righteousness of Heaven! +1849. + + + + +THE MEN OF OLD. + +"WELL speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast! +Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, +If, with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart, +Thou tread'st the solemn Pantheon of the Past, +By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind +To all the beauty, power, and truth behind. +Not without reverent awe shouldst thou put by +The cypress branches and the amaranth blooms, +Where, with clasped hands of prayer, upon their tombs +The effigies of old confessors lie, +God's witnesses; the voices of His will, +Heard in the slow march of the centuries still +Such were the men at whose rebuking frown, +Dark with God's wrath, the tyrant's knee went down; +Such from the terrors of the guilty drew +The vassal's freedom and the poor man's due." + +St. Anselm (may he rest forevermore +In Heaven's sweet peace!) forbade, of old, the sale +Of men as slaves, and from the sacred pale +Hurled the Northumbrian buyers of the poor. +To ransom souls from bonds and evil fate +St. Ambrose melted down the sacred plate,-- +Image of saint, the chalice, and the pix, +Crosses of gold, and silver candlesticks. +"Man is worth more than temples!" he replied +To such as came his holy work to chide. +And brave Cesarius, stripping altars bare, +And coining from the Abbey's golden hoard +The captive's freedom, answered to the prayer +Or threat of those whose fierce zeal for the Lord +Stifled their love of man,--"An earthen dish +The last sad supper of the Master bore +Most miserable sinners! do ye wish +More than your Lord, and grudge His dying poor +What your own pride and not His need requires? +Souls, than these shining gauds, He values more +Mercy, not sacrifice, His heart desires!" +O faithful worthies! resting far behind +In your dark ages, since ye fell asleep, +Much has been done for truth and human-kind; +Shadows are scattered wherein ye groped blind; +Man claims his birthright, freer pulses leap +Through peoples driven in your day like sheep; +Yet, like your own, our age's sphere of light, +Though widening still, is walled around by night; +With slow, reluctant eye, the Church has read, +Skeptic at heart, the lessons of its Head; +Counting, too oft, its living members less +Than the wall's garnish and the pulpit's dress; +World-moving zeal, with power to bless and feed +Life's fainting pilgrims, to their utter need, +Instead of bread, holds out the stone of creed; +Sect builds and worships where its wealth and +pride +And vanity stand shrined and deified, +Careless that in the shadow of its walls +God's living temple into ruin falls. +We need, methinks, the prophet-hero still, +Saints true of life, and martyrs strong of will, +To tread the land, even now, as Xavier trod +The streets of Goa, barefoot, with his bell, +Proclaiming freedom in the name of God, +And startling tyrants with the fear of hell +Soft words, smooth prophecies, are doubtless well; +But to rebuke the age's popular crime, +We need the souls of fire, the hearts of that old +time! +1849. + + + + +TO PIUS IX. + +The writer of these lines is no enemy of Catholics. He has, on more than +one occasion, exposed himself to the censures of his Protestant +brethren, by his strenuous endeavors to procure indemnification for the +owners of the convent destroyed near Boston. He defended the cause of +the Irish patriots long before it had become popular in this country; +and he was one of the first to urge the most liberal aid to the +suffering and starving population of the Catholic island. The severity +of his language finds its ample apology in the reluctant confession of +one of the most eminent Romish priests, the eloquent and devoted Father +Ventura. + +THE cannon's brazen lips are cold; +No red shell blazes down the air; +And street and tower, and temple old, +Are silent as despair. + +The Lombard stands no more at bay, +Rome's fresh young life has bled in vain; +The ravens scattered by the day +Come back with night again. + +Now, while the fratricides of France +Are treading on the neck of Rome, +Hider at Gaeta, seize thy chance! +Coward and cruel, come! + +Creep now from Naples' bloody skirt; +Thy mummer's part was acted well, +While Rome, with steel and fire begirt, +Before thy crusade fell! + +Her death-groans answered to thy prayer; +Thy chant, the drum and bugle-call; +Thy lights, the burning villa's glare; +Thy beads, the shell and ball! + +Let Austria clear thy way, with hands +Foul from Ancona's cruel sack, +And Naples, with his dastard bands +Of murderers, lead thee back! + +Rome's lips are dumb; the orphan's wail, +The mother's shriek, thou mayst not hear +Above the faithless Frenchman's hail, +The unsexed shaveling's cheer! + +Go, bind on Rome her cast-off weight, +The double curse of crook and crown, +Though woman's scorn and manhood's hate +From wall and roof flash down! + +Nor heed those blood-stains on the wall, +Not Tiber's flood can wash away, +Where, in thy stately Quirinal, +Thy mangled victims lay! + +Let the world murmur; let its cry +Of horror and disgust be heard; +Truth stands alone; thy coward lie +Is backed by lance and sword! + +The cannon of St. Angelo, +And chanting priest and clanging bell, +And beat of drum and bugle blow, +Shall greet thy coming well! + +Let lips of iron and tongues of slaves +Fit welcome give thee; for her part, +Rome, frowning o'er her new-made graves, +Shall curse thee from her heart! + +No wreaths of sad Campagna's flowers +Shall childhood in thy pathway fling; +No garlands from their ravaged bowers +Shall Terni's maidens bring; + +But, hateful as that tyrant old, +The mocking witness of his crime, +In thee shall loathing eyes behold +The Nero of our time! + +Stand where Rome's blood was freest shed, +Mock Heaven with impious thanks, and call +Its curses on the patriot dead, +Its blessings on the Gaul! + +Or sit upon thy throne of lies, +A poor, mean idol, blood-besmeared, +Whom even its worshippers despise, +Unhonored, unrevered! + +Yet, Scandal of the World! from thee +One needful truth mankind shall learn +That kings and priests to Liberty +And God are false in turn. + +Earth wearies of them; and the long +Meek sufferance of the Heavens doth fail; +Woe for weak tyrants, when the strong +Wake, struggle, and prevail! + +Not vainly Roman hearts have bled +To feed the Crosier and the Crown, +If, roused thereby, the world shall tread +The twin-born vampires down +1849. + + + + +CALEF IN BOSTON. + +1692. + +IN the solemn days of old, +Two men met in Boston town, +One a tradesman frank and bold, +One a preacher of renown. + +Cried the last, in bitter tone: +"Poisoner of the wells of truth +Satan's hireling, thou hast sown +With his tares the heart of youth!" + +Spake the simple tradesman then, +"God be judge 'twixt thee and me; +All thou knowed of truth hath been +Once a lie to men like thee. + +"Falsehoods which we spurn to-day +Were the truths of long ago; +Let the dead boughs fall away, +Fresher shall the living grow. + +"God is good and God is light, +In this faith I rest secure; +Evil can but serve the right, +Over all shall love endure. + +"Of your spectral puppet play +I have traced the cunning wires; +Come what will, I needs must say, +God is true, and ye are liars." + +When the thought of man is free, +Error fears its lightest tones; +So the priest cried, "Sadducee!" +And the people took up stones. + +In the ancient burying-ground, +Side by side the twain now lie; +One with humble grassy mound, +One with marbles pale and high. + +But the Lord hath blest the seed +Which that tradesman scattered then, +And the preacher's spectral creed +Chills no more the blood of men. + +Let us trust, to one is known +Perfect love which casts out fear, +While the other's joys atone +For the wrong he suffered here. +1849. + + + + +OUR STATE. + +THE South-land boasts its teeming cane, +The prairied West its heavy grain, +And sunset's radiant gates unfold +On rising marts and sands of gold. + +Rough, bleak, and hard, our little State +Is scant of soil, of limits strait; +Her yellow sands are sands alone, +Her only mines are ice and stone! + +From Autumn frost to April rain, +Too long her winter woods complain; +From budding flower to falling leaf, +Her summer time is all too brief. + +Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, +And wintry hills, the school-house stands, +And what her rugged soil denies, +The harvest of the mind supplies. + +The riches of the Commonwealth +Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health; +And more to her than gold or grain, +The cunning hand and cultured brain. + +For well she keeps her ancient stock, +The stubborn strength of Pilgrim Rock; +And still maintains, with milder laws, +And clearer light, the Good Old Cause. + +Nor heeds the skeptic's puny hands, +While near her school the church-spire stands; +Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule, +While near her church-spire stands the school. +1549. + + + + +THE PRISONERS OF NAPLES. + +I HAVE been thinking of the victims bound +In Naples, dying for the lack of air +And sunshine, in their close, damp cells of pain, +Where hope is not, and innocence in vain +Appeals against the torture and the chain! +Unfortunates! whose crime it was to share +Our common love of freedom, and to dare, +In its behalf, Rome's harlot triple-crowned, +And her base pander, the most hateful thing +Who upon Christian or on Pagan ground +Makes vile the old heroic name of king. +O God most merciful! Father just and kind +Whom man hath bound let thy right hand unbind. +Or, if thy purposes of good behind +Their ills lie hidden, let the sufferers find +Strong consolations; leave them not to doubt +Thy providential care, nor yet without +The hope which all thy attributes inspire, +That not in vain the martyr's robe of fire +Is worn, nor the sad prisoner's fretting chain; +Since all who suffer for thy truth send forth, +Electrical, with every throb of pain, +Unquenchable sparks, thy own baptismal rain +Of fire and spirit over all the earth, +Making the dead in slavery live again. +Let this great hope be with them, as they lie +Shut from the light, the greenness, and the sky; +From the cool waters and the pleasant breeze, +The smell of flowers, and shade of summer trees; +Bound with the felon lepers, whom disease +And sins abhorred make loathsome; let them share +Pellico's faith, Foresti's strength to bear +Years of unutterable torment, stern and still, +As the chained Titan victor through his will! +Comfort them with thy future; let them see +The day-dawn of Italian liberty; +For that, with all good things, is hid with Thee, +And, perfect in thy thought, awaits its time to be. + +I, who have spoken for freedom at the cost +Of some weak friendships, or some paltry prize +Of name or place, and more than I have lost +Have gained in wider reach of sympathies, +And free communion with the good and wise; +May God forbid that I should ever boast +Such easy self-denial, or repine +That the strong pulse of health no more is mine; +That, overworn at noonday, I must yield +To other hands the gleaning of the field; +A tired on-looker through the day's decline. +For blest beyond deserving still, and knowing +That kindly Providence its care is showing +In the withdrawal as in the bestowing, +Scarcely I dare for more or less to pray. +Beautiful yet for me this autumn day +Melts on its sunset hills; and, far away, +For me the Ocean lifts its solemn psalm, +To me the pine-woods whisper; and for me +Yon river, winding through its vales of calm, +By greenest banks, with asters purple-starred, +And gentian bloom and golden-rod made gay, +Flows down in silent gladness to the sea, +Like a pure spirit to its great reward! + +Nor lack I friends, long-tried and near and dear, +Whose love is round me like this atmosphere, +Warm, soft, and golden. For such gifts to me +What shall I render, O my God, to thee? +Let me not dwell upon my lighter share +Of pain and ill that human life must bear; +Save me from selfish pining; let my heart, +Drawn from itself in sympathy, forget +The bitter longings of a vain regret, +The anguish of its own peculiar smart. +Remembering others, as I have to-day, +In their great sorrows, let me live alway +Not for myself alone, but have a part, +Such as a frail and erring spirit may, +In love which is of Thee, and which indeed Thou art! +1851. + + + + +THE PEACE OF EUROPE. + +"GREAT peace in Europe! Order reigns +From Tiber's hills to Danube's plains!" +So say her kings and priests; so say +The lying prophets of our day. + +Go lay to earth a listening ear; +The tramp of measured marches hear; +The rolling of the cannon's wheel, +The shotted musket's murderous peal, +The night alarm, the sentry's call, +The quick-eared spy in hut and hall! +From Polar sea and tropic fen +The dying-groans of exiled men! +The bolted cell, the galley's chains, +The scaffold smoking with its stains! +Order, the hush of brooding slaves +Peace, in the dungeon-vaults and graves! + +O Fisher! of the world-wide net, +With meshes in all waters set, +Whose fabled keys of heaven and hell +Bolt hard the patriot's prison-cell, +And open wide the banquet-hall, +Where kings and priests hold carnival! +Weak vassal tricked in royal guise, +Boy Kaiser with thy lip of lies; +Base gambler for Napoleon's crown, +Barnacle on his dead renown! +Thou, Bourbon Neapolitan, +Crowned scandal, loathed of God and man +And thou, fell Spider of the North! +Stretching thy giant feelers forth, +Within whose web the freedom dies +Of nations eaten up like flies! +Speak, Prince and Kaiser, Priest and Czar I +If this be Peace, pray what is War? + +White Angel of the Lord! unmeet +That soil accursed for thy pure feet. +Never in Slavery's desert flows +The fountain of thy charmed repose; +No tyrant's hand thy chaplet weaves +Of lilies and of olive-leaves; +Not with the wicked shalt thou dwell, +Thus saith the Eternal Oracle; +Thy home is with the pure and free! +Stern herald of thy better day, +Before thee, to prepare thy way, +The Baptist Shade of Liberty, +Gray, scarred and hairy-robed, must press +With bleeding feet the wilderness! +Oh that its voice might pierces the ear +Of princes, trembling while they hear +A cry as of the Hebrew seer +Repent! God's kingdom draweth near! +1852. + + + + +ASTRAEA. + +"Jove means to settle +Astraea in her seat again, +And let down from his golden chain +An age of better metal." + BEN JONSON, 1615. + +O POET rare and old! +Thy words are prophecies; +Forward the age of gold, +The new Saturnian lies. + +The universal prayer +And hope are not in vain; +Rise, brothers! and prepare +The way for Saturn's reign. + +Perish shall all which takes +From labor's board and can; +Perish shall all which makes +A spaniel of the man! + +Free from its bonds the mind, +The body from the rod; +Broken all chains that bind +The image of our God. + +Just men no longer pine +Behind their prison-bars; +Through the rent dungeon shine +The free sun and the stars. + +Earth own, at last, untrod +By sect, or caste, or clan, +The fatherhood of God, +The brotherhood of man! + +Fraud fail, craft perish, forth +The money-changers driven, +And God's will done on earth, +As now in heaven; +1852. + + + + +THE DISENTHRALLED. + +HE had bowed down to drunkenness, +An abject worshipper +The pride of manhood's pulse had grown +Too faint and cold to stir; +And he had given his spirit up +To the unblessed thrall, +And bowing to the poison cup, +He gloried in his fall! + +There came a change--the cloud rolled off, +And light fell on his brain-- +And like the passing of a dream +That cometh not again, +The shadow of the spirit fled. +He saw the gulf before, +He shuddered at the waste behind, +And was a man once more. + +He shook the serpent folds away, +That gathered round his heart, +As shakes the swaying forest-oak +Its poison vine apart; +He stood erect; returning pride +Grew terrible within, +And conscience sat in judgment, on +His most familiar sin. + +The light of Intellect again +Along his pathway shone; +And Reason like a monarch sat +Upon his olden throne. +The honored and the wise once more +Within his presence came; +And lingered oft on lovely lips +His once forbidden name. + +There may be glory in the might, +That treadeth nations down; +Wreaths for the crimson conqueror, +Pride for the kingly crown; +But nobler is that triumph hour, +The disenthralled shall find, +When evil passion boweth down, +Unto the Godlike mind. + + + + +THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY. + +THE proudest now is but my peer, +The highest not more high; +To-day, of all the weary year, +A king of men am I. +To-day, alike are great and small, +The nameless and the known; +My palace is the people's hall, +The ballot-box my throne! + +Who serves to-day upon the list +Beside the served shall stand; +Alike the brown and wrinkled fist, +The gloved and dainty hand! +The rich is level with the poor, +The weak is strong to-day; +And sleekest broadcloth counts no more +Than homespun frock of gray. + +To-day let pomp and vain pretence +My stubborn right abide; +I set a plain man's common sense +Against the pedant's pride. +To-day shall simple manhood try +The strength of gold and land; +The wide world has not wealth to buy +The power in my right hand! + +While there's a grief to seek redress, +Or balance to adjust, +Where weighs our living manhood less +Than Mammon's vilest dust,-- +While there's a right to need my vote, +A wrong to sweep away, +Up! clouted knee and ragged coat +A man's a man to-day +1848. + + + + +THE DREAM OF PIO NONO. + +IT chanced that while the pious troops of France +Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached, +What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands +(The Hun and Aaron meet for such a Moses), +Stretched forth from Naples towards rebellious Rome +To bless the ministry of Oudinot, +And sanctify his iron homilies +And sharp persuasions of the bayonet, +That the great pontiff fell asleep, and dreamed. + +He stood by Lake Tiberias, in the sun +Of the bight Orient; and beheld the lame, +The sick, and blind, kneel at the Master's feet, +And rise up whole. And, sweetly over all, +Dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise +From heaven to earth, in silver rounds of song, +He heard the blessed angels sing of peace, +Good-will to man, and glory to the Lord. + +Then one, with feet unshod, and leathern face +Hardened and darkened by fierce summer suns +And hot winds of the desert, closer drew +His fisher's haick, and girded up his loins, +And spake, as one who had authority +"Come thou with me." + +Lakeside and eastern sky +And the sweet song of angels passed away, +And, with a dream's alacrity of change, +The priest, and the swart fisher by his side, +Beheld the Eternal City lift its domes +And solemn fanes and monumental pomp +Above the waste Campagna. On the hills +The blaze of burning villas rose and fell, +And momently the mortar's iron throat +Roared from the trenches; and, within the walls, +Sharp crash of shells, low groans of human pain, +Shout, drum beat, and the clanging larum-bell, +And tramp of hosts, sent up a mingled sound, +Half wail and half defiance. As they passed +The gate of San Pancrazio, human blood +Flowed ankle-high about them, and dead men +Choked the long street with gashed and gory piles,-- +A ghastly barricade of mangled flesh, +From which at times, quivered a living hand, +And white lips moved and moaned. A father tore +His gray hairs, by the body of his son, +In frenzy; and his fair young daughter wept +On his old bosom. Suddenly a flash +Clove the thick sulphurous air, and man and maid +Sank, crushed and mangled by the shattering shell. + +Then spake the Galilean: "Thou hast seen +The blessed Master and His works of love; +Look now on thine! Hear'st thou the angels sing +Above this open hell? Thou God's high-priest! +Thou the Vicegerent of the Prince of Peace! +Thou the successor of His chosen ones! +I, Peter, fisherman of Galilee, +In the dear Master's name, and for the love +Of His true Church, proclaim thee Antichrist, +Alien and separate from His holy faith, +Wide as the difference between death and life, +The hate of man and the great love of God! +Hence, and repent!" + +Thereat the pontiff woke, +Trembling, and muttering o'er his fearful dream. +"What means he?" cried the Bourbon, "Nothing more +Than that your majesty hath all too well +Catered for your poor guests, and that, in sooth, +The Holy Father's supper troubleth him," +Said Cardinal Antonelli, with a smile. +1853. + + + + +THE VOICES. +WHY urge the long, unequal fight, +Since Truth has fallen in the street, +Or lift anew the trampled light, +Quenched by the heedless million's feet? + +"Give o'er the thankless task; forsake +The fools who know not ill from good +Eat, drink, enjoy thy own, and take +Thine ease among the multitude. + +"Live out thyself; with others share +Thy proper life no more; assume +The unconcern of sun and air, +For life or death, or blight or bloom. + +"The mountain pine looks calmly on +The fires that scourge the plains below, +Nor heeds the eagle in the sun +The small birds piping in the snow! + +"The world is God's, not thine; let Him +Work out a change, if change must be +The hand that planted best can trim +And nurse the old unfruitful tree." + +So spake the Tempter, when the light +Of sun and stars had left the sky; +I listened, through the cloud and night, +And beard, methought, a voice reply: + +"Thy task may well seem over-hard, +Who scatterest in a thankless soil +Thy life as seed, with no reward +Save that which Duty gives to Toil. + +"Not wholly is thy heart resigned +To Heaven's benign and just decree, +Which, linking thee with all thy kind, +Transmits their joys and griefs to thee. + +"Break off that sacred chain, and turn +Back on thyself thy love and care; +Be thou thine own mean idol, burn +Faith, Hope, and Trust, thy children, there. + +"Released from that fraternal law +Which shares the common bale and bliss, +No sadder lot could Folly draw, +Or Sin provoke from Fate, than this. + +"The meal unshared is food unblest +Thou hoard'st in vain what love should spend; +Self-ease is pain; thy only rest +Is labor for a worthy end; + +"A toil that gains with what it yields, +And scatters to its own increase, +And hears, while sowing outward fields, +The harvest-song of inward peace. + +"Free-lipped the liberal streamlets run, +Free shines for all the healthful ray; +The still pool stagnates in the sun, +The lurid earth-fire haunts decay. + +"What is it that the crowd requite +Thy love with hate, thy truth with lies? +And but to faith, and not to sight, +The walls of Freedom's temple rise? + +"Yet do thy work; it shall succeed +In thine or in another's day; +And, if denied the victor's meed, +Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay. + +"Faith shares the future's promise; Love's +Self-offering is a triumph won; +And each good thought or action moves +The dark world nearer to the sun. + +"Then faint not, falter not, nor plead +Thy weakness; truth itself is strong; +The lion's strength, the eagle's speed, +Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. + +"Thy nature, which, through fire and flood, +To place or gain finds out its way, +Hath power to seek the highest good, +And duty's holiest call obey! + +"Strivest thou in darkness?--Foes without +In league with traitor thoughts within; +Thy night-watch kept with trembling Doubt +And pale Remorse the ghost of Sin? + +"Hast thou not, on some week of storm, +Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking fair, +And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form +The curtains of its tent of prayer? + +"So, haply, when thy task shall end, +The wrong shall lose itself in right, +And all thy week-day darkness blend +With the long Sabbath of the light!" +1854. + + + + +THE NEW EXODUS. + +Written upon hearing that slavery had been formally abolished in Egypt. +Unhappily, the professions and pledges of the vacillating government of +Egypt proved unreliable. + +BY fire and cloud, across the desert sand, +And through the parted waves, +From their long bondage, with an outstretched hand, +God led the Hebrew slaves! + +Dead as the letter of the Pentateuch, +As Egypt's statues cold, +In the adytum of the sacred book +Now stands that marvel old. + +"Lo, God is great!" the simple Moslem says. +We seek the ancient date, +Turn the dry scroll, and make that living phrase +A dead one: "God was great!" + +And, like the Coptic monks by Mousa's wells, +We dream of wonders past, +Vague as the tales the wandering Arab tells, +Each drowsier than the last. + +O fools and blind! Above the Pyramids +Stretches once more that hand, +And tranced Egypt, from her stony lids, +Flings back her veil of sand. + +And morning-smitten Memnon, singing, wakes; +And, listening by his Nile, +O'er Ammon's grave and awful visage breaks +A sweet and human smile. + +Not, as before, with hail and fire, and call +Of death for midnight graves, +But in the stillness of the noonday, fall +The fetters of the slaves. + +No longer through the Red Sea, as of old, +The bondmen walk dry shod; +Through human hearts, by love of Him controlled, +Runs now that path of God +1856. + + + + +THE CONQUEST OF FINLAND. + +"Joseph Sturge, with a companion, Thomas Harvey, has been visiting the +shores of Finland, to ascertain the amount of mischief and loss to poor +and peaceable sufferers, occasioned by the gun-boats of the allied +squadrons in the late war, with a view to obtaining relief for them."-- +Friends' Review. + +ACROSS the frozen marshes +The winds of autumn blow, +And the fen-lands of the Wetter +Are white with early snow. + +But where the low, gray headlands +Look o'er the Baltic brine, +A bark is sailing in the track +Of England's battle-line. + +No wares hath she to barter +For Bothnia's fish and grain; +She saileth not for pleasure, +She saileth not for gain. + +But still by isle or mainland +She drops her anchor down, +Where'er the British cannon +Rained fire on tower and town. + +Outspake the ancient Amtman, +At the gate of Helsingfors +"Why comes this ship a-spying +In the track of England's wars?" + +"God bless her," said the coast-guard,-- +"God bless the ship, I say. +The holy angels trim the sails +That speed her on her way! + +"Where'er she drops her anchor, +The peasant's heart is glad; +Where'er she spreads her parting sail, +The peasant's heart is sad. + +"Each wasted town and hamlet +She visits to restore; +To roof the shattered cabin, +And feed the starving poor. + +"The sunken boats of fishers, +The foraged beeves and grain, +The spoil of flake and storehouse, +The good ship brings again. + +"And so to Finland's sorrow +The sweet amend is made, +As if the healing hand of Christ +Upon her wounds were laid!" + +Then said the gray old Amtman, +"The will of God be done! +The battle lost by England's hate, +By England's love is won! + +"We braved the iron tempest +That thundered on our shore; +But when did kindness fail to find +The key to Finland's door? + +"No more from Aland's ramparts +Shall warning signal come, +Nor startled Sweaborg hear again +The roll of midnight drum. + +"Beside our fierce Black Eagle +The Dove of Peace shall rest; +And in the mouths of cannon +The sea-bird make her nest. + +"For Finland, looking seaward, +No coming foe shall scan; +And the holy bells of Abo +Shall ring, 'Good-will to man!' + +"Then row thy boat, O fisher! +In peace on lake and bay; +And thou, young maiden, dance again +Around the poles of May! + +"Sit down, old men, together, +Old wives, in quiet spin; +Henceforth the Anglo-Saxon +Is the brother of the Finn!" +1856. + + + + +THE EVE OF ELECTION. + +FROM gold to gray +Our mild sweet day +Of Indian Summer fades too soon; +But tenderly +Above the sea +Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. + +In its pale fire, +The village spire +Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance; +The painted walls +Whereon it falls +Transfigured stand in marble trance! + +O'er fallen leaves +The west-wind grieves, +Yet comes a seed-time round again; +And morn shall see +The State sown free +With baleful tares or healthful grain. + +Along the street +The shadows meet +Of Destiny, whose hands conceal +The moulds of fate +That shape the State, +And make or mar the common weal. + +Around I see +The powers that be; +I stand by Empire's primal springs; +And princes meet, +In every street, +And hear the tread of uncrowned kings! + +Hark! through the crowd +The laugh runs loud, +Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. +God save the land +A careless hand +May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon! + +No jest is this; +One cast amiss +May blast the hope of Freedom's year. +Oh, take me where +Are hearts of prayer, +And foreheads bowed in reverent fear! + +Not lightly fall +Beyond recall +The written scrolls a breath can float; +The crowning fact +The kingliest act +Of Freedom is the freeman's vote! + +For pearls that gem +A diadem +The diver in the deep sea dies; +The regal right +We boast to-night +Is ours through costlier sacrifice; + +The blood of Vane, +His prison pain +Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, +And hers whose faith +Drew strength from death, +And prayed her Russell up to God! + +Our hearts grow cold, +We lightly hold +A right which brave men died to gain; +The stake, the cord, +The axe, the sword, +Grim nurses at its birth of pain. + +The shadow rend, +And o'er us bend, +O martyrs, with your crowns and palms; +Breathe through these throngs +Your battle songs, +Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms. + +Look from the sky, +Like God's great eye, +Thou solemn moon, with searching beam, +Till in the sight +Of thy pure light +Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. + +Shame from our hearts +Unworthy arts, +The fraud designed, the purpose dark; +And smite away +The hands we lay +Profanely on the sacred ark. + +To party claims +And private aims, +Reveal that august face of Truth, +Whereto are given +The age of heaven, +The beauty of immortal youth. + +So shall our voice +Of sovereign choice +Swell the deep bass of duty done, +And strike the key +Of time to be, +When God and man shall speak as one! +1858. + + + + +FROM PERUGIA. + +"The thing which has the most dissevered the people from the Pope,--the +unforgivable thing,--the breaking point between him and them,--has been +the encouragement and promotion he gave to the officer under whom were +executed the slaughters of Perugia. That made the breaking point in many +honest hearts that had clung to him before."--HARRIET BEECHER STOWE'S +Letters from Italy. + +The tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread, +Flaming out in their violet, yellow, and red; +And behind go the lackeys in crimson and buff, +And the chamberlains gorgeous in velvet and ruff; +Next, in red-legged pomp, come the cardinals forth, +Each a lord of the church and a prince of the earth. + +What's this squeak of the fife, and this batter of drum +Lo! the Swiss of the Church from Perugia come; +The militant angels, whose sabres drive home +To the hearts of the malcontents, cursed and abhorred, +The good Father's missives, and "Thus saith the Lord!" +And lend to his logic the point of the sword! + +O maids of Etruria, gazing forlorn +O'er dark Thrasymenus, dishevelled and torn! +O fathers, who pluck at your gray beards for shame! +O mothers, struck dumb by a woe without name! +Well ye know how the Holy Church hireling behaves, +And his tender compassion of prisons and graves! + +There they stand, the hired stabbers, the blood-stains yet fresh, +That splashed like red wine from the vintage of flesh; +Grim instruments, careless as pincers and rack +How the joints tear apart, and the strained sinews crack; +But the hate that glares on them is sharp as their swords, +And the sneer and the scowl print the air with fierce words! + +Off with hats, down with knees, shout your vivas like mad! +Here's the Pope in his holiday righteousness clad, +From shorn crown to toe-nail, kiss-worn to the quick, +Of sainthood in purple the pattern and pick, +Who the role of the priest and the soldier unites, +And, praying like Aaron, like Joshua fights! + +Is this Pio Nono the gracious, for whom +We sang our hosannas and lighted all Rome; +With whose advent we dreamed the new era began +When the priest should be human, the monk be a man? +Ah, the wolf's with the sheep, and the fox with the fowl, +When freedom we trust to the crosier and cowl! + +Stand aside, men of Rome! Here's a hangman-faced Swiss-- +(A blessing for him surely can't go amiss)-- +Would kneel down the sanctified slipper to kiss. +Short shrift will suffice him,--he's blest beyond doubt; +But there 's blood on his hands which would scarcely wash out, +Though Peter himself held the baptismal spout! + +Make way for the next! Here's another sweet son +What's this mastiff-jawed rascal in epaulets done? +He did, whispers rumor, (its truth God forbid!) +At Perugia what Herod at Bethlehem did. +And the mothers? Don't name them! these humors of war +They who keep him in service must pardon him for. + +Hist! here's the arch-knave in a cardinal's hat, +With the heart of a wolf, and the stealth of a cat +(As if Judas and Herod together were rolled), +Who keeps, all as one, the Pope's conscience and gold, +Mounts guard on the altar, and pilfers from thence, +And flatters St. Peter while stealing his pence! + + +Who doubts Antonelli? Have miracles ceased +When robbers say mass, and Barabbas is priest? +When the Church eats and drinks, at its mystical board, +The true flesh and blood carved and shed by its sword, +When its martyr, unsinged, claps the crown on his head, +And roasts, as his proxy, his neighbor instead! + +There! the bells jow and jangle the same blessed way +That they did when they rang for Bartholomew's day. +Hark! the tallow-faced monsters, nor women nor boys, +Vex the air with a shrill, sexless horror of noise. +Te Deum laudamus! All round without stint +The incense-pot swings with a taint of blood in 't! + +And now for the blessing! Of little account, +You know, is the old one they heard on the Mount. +Its giver was landless, His raiment was poor, +No jewelled tiara His fishermen wore; +No incense, no lackeys, no riches, no home, +No Swiss guards! We order things better at Rome. + +So bless us the strong hand, and curse us the weak; +Let Austria's vulture have food for her beak; +Let the wolf-whelp of Naples play Bomba again, +With his death-cap of silence, and halter, and chain; +Put reason, and justice, and truth under ban; +For the sin unforgiven is freedom for man! +1858. + + + + +ITALY. + +ACROSS the sea I heard the groans +Of nations in the intervals +Of wind and wave. Their blood and bones +Cried out in torture, crushed by thrones, +And sucked by priestly cannibals. + +I dreamed of Freedom slowly gained +By martyr meekness, patience, faith, +And lo! an athlete grimly stained, +With corded muscles battle-strained, +Shouting it from the fields of death! + +I turn me, awe-struck, from the sight, +Among the clamoring thousands mute, +I only know that God is right, +And that the children of the light +Shall tread the darkness under foot. + +I know the pent fire heaves its crust, +That sultry skies the bolt will form +To smite them clear; that Nature must +The balance of her powers adjust, +Though with the earthquake and the storm. + +God reigns, and let the earth rejoice! +I bow before His sterner plan. +Dumb are the organs of my choice; +He speaks in battle's stormy voice, +His praise is in the wrath of man! + +Yet, surely as He lives, the day +Of peace He promised shall be ours, +To fold the flags of war, and lay +Its sword and spear to rust away, +And sow its ghastly fields with flowers! +1860. + + + + +FREEDOM IN BRAZIL. + +WITH clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth +In blue Brazilian skies; +And thou, O river, cleaving half the earth +From sunset to sunrise, + +From the great mountains to the Atlantic waves +Thy joy's long anthem pour. +Yet a few years (God make them less!) and slaves +Shall shame thy pride no more. +No fettered feet thy shaded margins press; +But all men shall walk free +Where thou, the high-priest of the wilderness, +Hast wedded sea to sea. + +And thou, great-hearted ruler, through whose mouth +The word of God is said, +Once more, "Let there be light!"--Son of the South, +Lift up thy honored head, +Wear unashamed a crown by thy desert +More than by birth thy own, +Careless of watch and ward; thou art begirt +By grateful hearts alone. +The moated wall and battle-ship may fail, +But safe shall justice prove; +Stronger than greaves of brass or iron mail +The panoply of love. + +Crowned doubly by man's blessing and God's grace, +Thy future is secure; +Who frees a people makes his statue's place +In Time's Valhalla sure. +Lo! from his Neva's banks the Scythian Czar +Stretches to thee his hand, +Who, with the pencil of the Northern star, +Wrote freedom on his land. +And he whose grave is holy by our calm +And prairied Sangamon, +From his gaunt hand shall drop the martyr's palm +To greet thee with "Well done!" + +And thou, O Earth, with smiles thy face make sweet, +And let thy wail be stilled, +To hear the Muse of prophecy repeat +Her promise half fulfilled. +The Voice that spake at Nazareth speaks still, +No sound thereof hath died; +Alike thy hope and Heaven's eternal will +Shall yet be satisfied. +The years are slow, the vision tarrieth long, +And far the end may be; +But, one by one, the fiends of ancient wrong +Go out and leave thee free. +1867. + + + + +AFTER ELECTION. + +THE day's sharp strife is ended now, +Our work is done, God knoweth how! +As on the thronged, unrestful town +The patience of the moon looks down, +I wait to hear, beside the wire, +The voices of its tongues of fire. + +Slow, doubtful, faint, they seem at first +Be strong, my heart, to know the worst! +Hark! there the Alleghanies spoke; +That sound from lake and prairie broke, +That sunset-gun of triumph rent +The silence of a continent! + +That signal from Nebraska sprung, +This, from Nevada's mountain tongue! +Is that thy answer, strong and free, +O loyal heart of Tennessee? +What strange, glad voice is that which calls +From Wagner's grave and Sumter's walls? + +From Mississippi's fountain-head +A sound as of the bison's tread! +There rustled freedom's Charter Oak +In that wild burst the Ozarks spoke! +Cheer answers cheer from rise to set +Of sun. We have a country yet! + +The praise, O God, be thine alone! +Thou givest not for bread a stone; +Thou hast not led us through the night +To blind us with returning light; +Not through the furnace have we passed, +To perish at its mouth at last. + +O night of peace, thy flight restrain! +November's moon, be slow to wane! +Shine on the freedman's cabin floor, +On brows of prayer a blessing pour; +And give, with full assurance blest, +The weary heart of Freedom rest! +1868. + + + + +DISARMAMENT. + +"PUT up the sword!" The voice of Christ once more +Speaks, in the pauses of the cannon's roar, +O'er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped +And left dry ashes; over trenches heaped +With nameless dead; o'er cities starving slow +Under a rain of fire; through wards of woe +Down which a groaning diapason runs +From tortured brothers, husbands, lovers, sons +Of desolate women in their far-off homes, +Waiting to hear the step that never comes! +O men and brothers! let that voice be heard. +War fails, try peace; put up the useless sword! + +Fear not the end. There is a story told +In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold, +And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit +With grave responses listening unto it +Once, on the errands of his mercy bent, +Buddha, the holy and benevolent, +Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look, +Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook. +"O son of peace!" the giant cried, "thy fate +Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to hate." +The unarmed Buddha looking, with no trace +Of fear or anger, in the monster's face, +In pity said: "Poor fiend, even thee I love." +Lo! as he spake the sky-tall terror sank +To hand-breadth size; the huge abhorrence shrank +Into the form and fashion of a dove; +And where the thunder of its rage was heard, +Circling above him sweetly sang the bird +"Hate hath no harm for love," so ran the song; +"And peace unweaponed conquers every wrong!" +1871. + + + + +THE PROBLEM. + +I. +NOT without envy Wealth at times must look +On their brown strength who wield the reaping-hook +And scythe, or at the forge-fire shape the plough +Or the steel harness of the steeds of steam; +All who, by skill and patience, anyhow +Make service noble, and the earth redeem +From savageness. By kingly accolade +Than theirs was never worthier knighthood made. +Well for them, if, while demagogues their vain +And evil counsels proffer, they maintain +Their honest manhood unseduced, and wage +No war with Labor's right to Labor's gain +Of sweet home-comfort, rest of hand and brain, +And softer pillow for the head of Age. + +II. +And well for Gain if it ungrudging yields +Labor its just demand; and well for Ease +If in the uses of its own, it sees +No wrong to him who tills its pleasant fields +And spreads the table of its luxuries. +The interests of the rich man and the poor +Are one and same, inseparable evermore; +And, when scant wage or labor fail to give +Food, shelter, raiment, wherewithal to live, +Need has its rights, necessity its claim. +Yea, even self-wrought misery and shame +Test well the charity suffering long and kind. +The home-pressed question of the age can find +No answer in the catch-words of the blind +Leaders of blind. Solution there is none +Save in the Golden Rule of Christ alone. +1877. + + + + +OUR COUNTRY. + +Read at Woodstock, Conn., July 4,1883. + +WE give thy natal day to hope, +O Country of our love and prayer I +Thy way is down no fatal slope, +But up to freer sun and air. + +Tried as by furnace-fires, and yet +By God's grace only stronger made, +In future tasks before thee set +Thou shalt not lack the old-time aid. + +The fathers sleep, but men remain +As wise, as true, and brave as they; +Why count the loss and not the gain? +The best is that we have to-day. + +Whate'er of folly, shame, or crime, +Within thy mighty bounds transpires, +With speed defying space and time +Comes to us on the accusing wires; + +While of thy wealth of noble deeds, +Thy homes of peace, thy votes unsold, +The love that pleads for human needs, +The wrong redressed, but half is told! + +We read each felon's chronicle, +His acts, his words, his gallows-mood; +We know the single sinner well +And not the nine and ninety good. + +Yet if, on daily scandals fed, +We seem at times to doubt thy worth, +We know thee still, when all is said, +The best and dearest spot on earth. + +From the warm Mexic Gulf, or where +Belted with flowers Los Angeles +Basks in the semi-tropic air, +To where Katahdin's cedar trees + +Are dwarfed and bent by Northern winds, +Thy plenty's horn is yearly filled; +Alone, the rounding century finds +Thy liberal soil by free hands tilled. + +A refuge for the wronged and poor, +Thy generous heart has borne the blame +That, with them, through thy open door, +The old world's evil outcasts came. + +But, with thy just and equal rule, +And labor's need and breadth of lands, +Free press and rostrum, church and school, +Thy sure, if slow, transforming hands + +Shall mould even them to thy design, +Making a blessing of the ban; +And Freedom's chemistry combine +The alien elements of man. + +The power that broke their prison bar +And set the dusky millions free, +And welded in the flame of war +The Union fast to Liberty, + +Shall it not deal with other ills, +Redress the red man's grievance, break +The Circean cup which shames and kills, +And Labor full requital make? + +Alone to such as fitly bear +Thy civic honors bid them fall? +And call thy daughters forth to share +The rights and duties pledged to all? + +Give every child his right of school, +Merge private greed in public good, +And spare a treasury overfull +The tax upon a poor man's food? + +No lack was in thy primal stock, +No weakling founders builded here; +Thine were the men of Plymouth Rock, +The Huguenot and Cavalier; + +And they whose firm endurance gained +The freedom of the souls of men, +Whose hands, unstained with blood, maintained +The swordless commonwealth of Penn. + +And thine shall be the power of all +To do the work which duty bids, +And make the people's council hall +As lasting as the Pyramids! + +Well have thy later years made good +Thy brave-said word a century back, +The pledge of human brotherhood, +The equal claim of white and black. + +That word still echoes round the world, +And all who hear it turn to thee, +And read upon thy flag unfurled +The prophecies of destiny. + +Thy great world-lesson all shall learn, +The nations in thy school shall sit, +Earth's farthest mountain-tops shall burn +With watch-fires from thy own uplit. + +Great without seeking to be great +By fraud or conquest, rich in gold, +But richer in the large estate +Of virtue which thy children hold, + +With peace that comes of purity +And strength to simple justice due, +So runs our loyal dream of thee; +God of our fathers! make it true. + +O Land of lands! to thee we give +Our prayers, our hopes, our service free; +For thee thy sons shall nobly live, +And at thy need shall die for thee! + + + + +ON THE BIG HORN. + +In the disastrous battle on the Big Horn River, in which General Custer +and his entire force were slain, the chief Rain-in-the-Face was one of +the fiercest leaders of the Indians. In Longfellow's poem on the +massacre, these lines will be remembered:-- + + "Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face, + "Revenge upon all the race + Of the White Chief with yellow hair!" + And the mountains dark and high + From their crags reechoed the cry + Of his anger and despair. + +He is now a man of peace; and the agent at Standing Rock, Dakota, +writes, September 28, 1886: "Rain-in-the-Face is very anxious to go to +Hampton. I fear he is too old, but he desires very much to go." The +Southern Workman, the organ of General Armstrong's Industrial School at +Hampton, Va., says in a late number:-- + +"Rain-in-the-Face has applied before to come to Hampton, but his age +would exclude him from the school as an ordinary student. He has shown +himself very much in earnest about it, and is anxious, all say, to learn +the better ways of life. It is as unusual as it is striking to see a man +of his age, and one who has had such an experience, willing to give up +the old way, and put himself in the position of a boy and a student." + +THE years are but half a score, +And the war-whoop sounds no more +With the blast of bugles, where +Straight into a slaughter pen, +With his doomed three hundred men, +Rode the chief with the yellow hair. + +O Hampton, down by the sea! +What voice is beseeching thee +For the scholar's lowliest place? +Can this be the voice of him +Who fought on the Big Horn's rim? +Can this be Rain-in-the-Face? + +His war-paint is washed away, +His hands have forgotten to slay; +He seeks for himself and his race +The arts of peace and the lore +That give to the skilled hand more +Than the spoils of war and chase. + +O chief of the Christ-like school! +Can the zeal of thy heart grow cool +When the victor scarred with fight +Like a child for thy guidance craves, +And the faces of hunters and braves +Are turning to thee for light? + +The hatchet lies overgrown +With grass by the Yellowstone, +Wind River and Paw of Bear; +And, in sign that foes are friends, +Each lodge like a peace-pipe sends +Its smoke in the quiet air. + +The hands that have done the wrong +To right the wronged are strong, +And the voice of a nation saith +"Enough of the war of swords, +Enough of the lying words +And shame of a broken faith!" + +The hills that have watched afar +The valleys ablaze with war +Shall look on the tasselled corn; +And the dust of the grinded grain, +Instead of the blood of the slain, +Shall sprinkle thy banks, Big Horn! + +The Ute and the wandering Crow +Shall know as the white men know, +And fare as the white men fare; +The pale and the red shall be brothers, +One's rights shall be as another's, +Home, School, and House of Prayer! + +O mountains that climb to snow, +O river winding below, +Through meadows by war once trod, +O wild, waste lands that await +The harvest exceeding great, +Break forth into praise of God! +1887. + + + + + NOTES + +Note 1, page 18. The reader may, perhaps, call to mind the beautiful +sonnet of William Wordsworth, addressed to Toussaint L'Ouverture, during +his confinement in France. + +"Toussaint!--thou most unhappy man of men +Whether the whistling rustic tends his plough +Within thy hearing, or thou liest now +Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den; +O miserable chieftain!--where and when +Wilt thou find patience?--Yet, die not, do thou +Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow; +Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, +Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind +Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies,-- +There's not a breathing of the common wind +That will forget thee; thou hast great allies. +Thy friends are exultations, agonies, +And love, and man's unconquerable mind." + + +Note 2, page 67. The Northern author of the Congressional rule against +receiving petitions of the people on the subject of Slavery. + + +Note 3, page 88. There was at the time when this poem was written an +Association in Liberty County, Georgia, for the religious instruction of +negroes. One of their annual reports contains an address by the Rev. +Josiah Spry Law, in which the following passage occurs: "There is a +growing interest in this community in the religious instruction of +negroes. There is a conviction that religious instruction promotes the +quiet and order of the people, and the pecuniary interest of the +owners." + + +Note 4, page 117. The book-establishment of the Free-Will Baptists in +Dover was refused the act of incorporation by the New Hampshire +Legislature, for the reason that the newspaper organ of that sect and +its leading preachers favored abolition. + + +Note 5, page 118. The senatorial editor of the Belknap Gazette all along +manifested a peculiar horror of "niggers" and "nigger parties." + + +Note 6, page 118. The justice before whom Elder Storrs was brought for +preaching abolition on a writ drawn by Hon. M. N., Jr., of Pittsfield. +The sheriff served the writ while the elder was praying. + + +Note 7, page 118. The academy at Canaan, N. H., received one or two +colored scholars, and was in consequence dragged off into a swamp by +Democratic teams. + + +Note 8, page 119. "Papers and memorials touching the subject of slavery +shall be laid on the table without reading, debate, or reference." So +read the gag-law, as it was called, introduced in the House by Mr. +Atherton. + + +Note 9, page 120. The Female Anti-Slavery Society, at its first meeting +in Concord, was assailed with stones and brickbats. + + +Note 10, page 168. The election of Charles Sumner to the United States +Senate "followed bard upon" the rendition of the fugitive Sims by the +United States officials and the armed police of Boston. + + +Note 11, page 290. For the idea of this line, I am indebted to Emerson, +in his inimitable sonnet to the Rhodora,-- + +"If eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being." + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANTI-SLAVERY AND REFORM *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named wit2110.txt or wit2110.zip ******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, wit2111.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wit2110a.txt + +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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