صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

And oh, will the land where the free soul of PENN
Still lingers and breathes over mountain and glen
Will the land where a BENEZET's spirit went forth
To the peeled, and the meted, and outcast of Earth –
Where the words of the Charter of Liberty first
From the soul of the sage and the patriot burst
Where first for the wronged and the weak of their kind,
The Christian and statesman their efforts combined
Will that land of the free and the good wear a chain ?
Will the call to the rescue of Freedom be vain ?

[ocr errors]

NO, RITNER! - her "Friends," at thy warning shall stand
Erect for the truth, like their ancestral band;
Forgetting the feuds and the strife of past time,
Counting coldness injustice, and silence a crime;
Turning back from the cavil of creeds, to unite
Once again for the poor in defence of the Right;
Breasting calmly, but firmly, the full tide of Wrong,
Overwhelmed, but not borne on its surges along;
Unappalled by the danger, the shame and the pain,
And counting each trial for Truth as their gain !

And that bold-hearted yeomanry, honest and true,
Who, haters of fraud, give to labor its due;
Whose fathers, of old, sang in concert with thine,
On the banks of Swetara, the songs of the Rhine
The German-born pilgrims, who first dared to brave
The scorn of the proud in the cause of the slave : —
Will the sons of such men yield the lords of the South
One brow for the brand for the padlock one mouth?
They cater to tyrants? - They rivet the chain,
Which their fathers smote off, on the negro again?

No, never! one voice, like the sound in the cloud,
When the roar of the storm waxes loud and more loud,
Wherever the foot of the freeman hath pressed
From the Delaware's marge to the Lake of the West,
On the South-going breezes shall deepen and grow
Till the land it sweeps over shall tremble below!


The voice of a PEOPLE - uprisen awake

Pennsylvania's watchword, with Freedom at stake,

Thrilling up from each valley, flung down from each height, "OUR COUNTRY AND LIBERTY! GOD FOR THE RIGHT!"



HE blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern

THE way,

Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:

No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal,

Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel.

No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go
Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow;

And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far,
A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war.

We hear thy threats, Virginia! thy stormy words and high,
Swell harshly on the Southern winds which melt along our sky;
Yet, not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor here
No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear.

Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank Cold on the shore of Labrador the fog lies white and dank; Through storm and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts which man

The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann.

The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms, Bent grimly o'er their straining lines or wrestling with the storms; Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam, They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their rocky home.

What means the Old Dominion? Hath she forgot the day When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array? How side by side, with sons of hers, the Massachusetts men Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then?

Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call

Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall? When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath Of Northern winds, the thrilling sounds of "LIBERTY OR DEATH!”

What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved
False to their fathers' memory - false to the faith they loved,
If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn,
Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn?

We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell
Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell
We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves,
From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves!

Thank God! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow;
The spirit of her early time is with her even now;

Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow, and calm, and cool,

She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool!

All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may,
Heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our early day;
But that one dark loathsome burden ye must stagger with alone,
And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown!

Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's free air

With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild despair;

Cling closer to the "cleaving curse" that writes upon your plains The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains.


Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old,


By watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold
Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market value, when
The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den!

Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginian name;
Plant, if ye will, your fathers' graves with rankest weeds of shame;
Be, if ye will, the scandal of God's fair universe -

We wash our hands forever, of your sin, and shame, and curse.

A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's shrine hath been,

Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain


The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still

In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill.

And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey
Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of gray,

How, through the free lips of the son, the father's warning spoke;

How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke!

A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on high,

A hundred thousand voices sent back their loud reply;

Through the thronged towns of Essex the startling summons


And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics sprang !

The voice of free, broad Middlesex of thousands as of one
The shaft of Bunker calling to that of Lexington —
From Norfolk's ancient villages; from Plymouth's rocky bound
To where Nantucket feels the arms of ocean close her round;

From rich and rural Worcester, where through the calm repose Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows, To where Wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of "God save Latimer!”

And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt sea spray
And Bristol sent her answering shout down Narragansett Bay!
Along the broad Connecticut old Hampden felt the thrill,

And the cheer of Hampshire's woodmen swept down from Holyoke

The voice of Massachusetts ! Of her free sons and daughters Deep calling unto deep aloud — the sound of many waters! Against the burden of that voice what tyrant power shall stand? No fetters in the Bay State! No slave upon her land!

Look to it well, Virginians! In calmness we have borne,
In answer to our faith and trust, your insult and your scorn;
You've spurned our kindest counsels - you've hunted for our


And shaken round our hearths and homes your manacles and gyves!

We wage no war
we lift no arm we fling no torch within
The fire-damps of the quaking mine beneath your soil of sin;
We leave ye with your bondmen, to wrestle, while ye can,
With the strong upward tendencies and God-like soul of man!

But for us and for our children, the vow which we have given
For freedom and humanity, is registered in Heaven;
No slave-hunt in our borders -no pirate on our strand!
No fetters in the Bay State—no slave upon our land!

« السابقةمتابعة »