STANZAS. ["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! Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war! From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well! By storied hill and hallowed grot, What, ho!-our countrymen in chains! 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 Say, shall these writhing slaves of Wrong, What! shall we send, with lavish breath, Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France, The impulse of our cheering call ? And toss his fettered arms on high, Oh, say, shall Prussia's banner be VOL. I. Shall every flap of England's flag Go-let us ask of Constantine To loose his grasp on Poland's throat; 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, Scatter the living coals of Truth! Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth- Hear ye no warnings in the air? Up now for Freedom !-not in strife Down let the shrine of Moloch sink, His daily cup of human blood: To Truth and Love and Mercy given, 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 Who comes in his pride to that low cottage-doorThe haughty and rich to the humble and poor? 'Tis 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, But thou art too lovely and precious a gem Oh, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, Oh, come to my home, where my servants shall all 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 hast sold |