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Shall every flap of England's flag
Proclaim that all around are free, From "farthest Ind” to each blue crag
That beetles o'er the Western Sea ? And shall we scoff at Europe's kings,
When Freedom's fire is dim with us, And round our country's altar clings
The damning shade of Slavery's curse ?
Go-let us ask of Constantine
To loose his grasp on Poland's throat; And beg the lord of Mahmoud's line
To spare the struggling SulioteWill not the scorching answer come
From turbaned Turk, and scornful Russ: “Go, loose your fettered slaves at home,
Then turn, and ask the like of us !”.
Just God! and shall we calmly rest,
The Christian's scorn—the heathen's mirth Content to live the lingering jest
And by-word of a mocking Earth ? Shall our own glorious land retain
That curse which Europe scorns to bear? Shall our own brethren drag the chain
Which not even Russia's menials wear?
Up, then, in Freedom's manly part,
From gray-beard eld to fiery youth, And on the nation's naked heart
Scatter the living coals of Truth! Up—while ye slumber, deeper yet
The shadow of our fame is growing !
In blood, around our altars flowing !
The gathered wrath of God and man--
When hail and fire above it ran.
Hear ye no warnings in the air ?
Feel ye no earthquake underneath ? Up-up—why will ye slumber where
The sleeper only wakes in death ? Up now for Freedom !-not in strife
Like that your sterner fathers saw-
The glory and the guilt of war :
And smite to earth Oppression's rod,
Made mighty through the living God!
Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood ; Nor longer let its idol drink
His daily cup of human blood : But rear another altar there,
To Truth and Love and Mercy given, And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer,
Shall call an answer down from Heaven!
THE YANKEE GIRL.
She sings by her wheel at that low cottage-door, Which the long evening shadow is stretching
before, With a music as sweet as the music which seems Breathed softly and faint in the ear of our dreams'
How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, Like a star glancing out from the blue of the
sky! And lightly and freely her dark tresses play D'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they!
Who comes in his pride to that low cottage-door-The haughty and rich to the humble and poor r? 'Tis the great Southern planter—the master who His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves. 6 Nay, Ellen—for shame! Let those Yankee fools
spin, Who would pass for our slaves with a change of
their skin; Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel, Too stupid for shame, and too vulgar to feel! But thou art too lovely and precious a gem To be bound to their burdens and sullied by themFor shame, Ellen, shame !-cast thy bondage aside, And away to the South, as my blessing and pride. Oh, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, But where flowers are blossoming all the year long, Where the shade of the palm-tree is over my home, And the lemon and orange are white in their
Oh, come to my home, where my servants shall all
Oh, could ye have seen her—that pride of our
girlsArise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on
"Go back, haughty Southron ! thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold
Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear
raves, Than the sweet summer zephyr which breathes
over slaves !
Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel,
TO W. L. G.
CHAMPION of those who groan beneath
Oppression's iron hand:
I see thee fearless stand.
In the steadfast strength of truth,
And promise of thy youth.
Go on !—for thou hast chosen weli;
On in the strength of God!
Beneath the tyrant's rod.
As thou hast ever spoken,
The fetter's link be broken !
I love thee with a brother's love,
I feel my pulses thrill,
The cloud of human ill.
And echo back thy words,
And flash of kindred swords !
They tell me thou art rash and vain
A searcher after fame;
A long enduring name;
And steeled the Afric's heart,
And rend his chain apart.
Thy mighty purpose long!
Thy human spirit strong?
Avail with one like me,
And earnest trust in thee?
—the dagger's point may glare
Is glorious martyrdom!
And wait thy sure reward
And God alone be Lord !