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TO JOHN C. FREMONT.
HY error, Fremont, simply was to act
But, if thine be the fate of all who break
through thee, Irrevocable, the mighty words, Be free! The land shakes with them, and the slave's
Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear. Who would recall them now must first arrest
The winds that blow down from the free North
ESIDE 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,
Two angels, each with drooping head
The one, with forehead saintly bland
The other's brows were scarred and knit,
“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
“What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave ?
66 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
“I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock,
66 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.