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Lo! threescore years have passed; and where
With Northern drum-roll, and the clear,
O, fields still green and fresh in story,
Old thoughts which stirred the hearts of men,
Your world-wide honor stained with shame, –
Where's now the flag of that old war?
Where flows its stripe Where burns its star?
Bear witness, Palo Alto's day,
Dark Vale of Palms, red Monterey,
Where Mexic Freedom, young and weak,
Fleshes the Northern eagle's beak:
Symbol of terror and despair,
Of chains and slaves, go seek it there!
Laugh, Prussia, midst thy iron ranks !
ESIDE a stricken field I stood;
On the torn turf, on grass and wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood.
Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain,
Two angels, each with drooping head
The one, with forehead saintly bland
The other's brows were scarred and knit,
I knew the voice of Peace,
"Is there no respite ?- no release ?
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, Tell how and when the end shall be, What hope remains for thee and me.
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,
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!"
WRITTEN ON THE ADOPTION OF PINCKNEY'S RESOLUTIONS, IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, AND THE PASSAGE OF CALHOUN'S (6 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.
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?