Not mine alone the task to speak But, mingled in the conflict warm, To brave Opinion's settled frown, Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, And, broad and bright, on either hand, Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; Whence voices called me like the flow, Which on the listener's ear will grow, Of forest streamlets soft and low. And gentle eyes, which still retain In vain!-nor dream, nor rest, nor The simple burst of tenderest feeling From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, Better than Glory's pomp will be Something of Time which may invite And when the summer winds shall sweep With their light wings my place of sleep, If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, If words my lips once uttered still, 73 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, A mighty host, on either hand, 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, 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 fan your prairies' roaring fires, TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS 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! And wandering by that sacred river, Gentlest of spirits! - not for thee Partaker of the joys of Heaven? The poor man and the rescued slave And grateful tears, like summer rain, Recalling memories sweet and holy ! O for the death the righteous die! An end, like autumn's day declining, When autumn's sun is downward go- On human hearts, as on the sky, ing, The blessed memory of thy worth But woe for us! who linger still With holier, tenderer beauty shining; From off the Eternal altar flowing, With feebler strength and hearts less Were bathing, in its upward flight, 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, The spirit to its worship going! TO A SOUTHERN STATESMAN. 1846. Not warm like thine, but cold and slow, Is this thy voice, whose treble notes of 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 keep- O for that hidden strength which can And constant in the hour of trial, In meekness and in self-denial. fear Wail in the wind? And dost thou shake to hear, Acteon-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, Shall our New England stand erect no | And unto God devout thanksgiving Gnaws with his surges, from the fisher's skiff, Prayer-strengthened for the trial, come together, Put on the harness for the moral fight, With white sail swaying to the billows' And, with the blessing of your Heav enly Father, MAINTAIN THE RIGHT! |