43 B' THE WATCHERS. Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, And gusty sighs and tearful rain. 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, 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, Then Freedom sternly said: "I shun "I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, "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, But round me, like a silver bell "Still hope and trust," it sang; "the rod Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, But all is possible with God!" LINES, 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. M EN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit 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 Here shall the statesman forge his human fetters, 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, Day after day? O no; methinks from all her wild, green mountains From her rough coast, and And clear, cold sky — isles, which hungry Ocean - From the free fireside of her unbought farmer- 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 And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it Within her grave. O, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing And unto God devout thanksgiving raising, Bless us the while.. |