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TO FANEUIL HALL.

33

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TO FANEUIL HALL.

EN!

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1844.

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!

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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!

THE PINE-TREE.

1846.

IFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield,

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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.

THE PINE-TREE.

35

Tell us not of banks and tariffs

- cease your paltry peddler cries Shall the good State sink her honor that your gambling stocks

may rise?

Would ye barter man for cotton?

up higher,

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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 :

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Up for God and Massachusetts !

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Set your feet on Mammon's

Perish banks and perish traffic-spin your cotton's latest poundBut in Heaven's name keep your honor

Bay State sound!"

keep the heart o' the

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 de

spair?

Has she none to break the silence?

dare?

Has she none to do and

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!

LINES,

SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO THE CITY OF WASHINGTON IN THE 12TH MONTH OF 1845.

ITH a cold and wintry noon-light,

WITH

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 measures sweet and rare :

LINES.

There to-night shall woman's glances,
Star-like, welcome give to them,
Fawning fools with shy advances

Seek to touch their garments' hem,

37

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?

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