But, when the task was done, kept pouring still,
In vain with spell and charm the wizard wrought,
Faster and faster were the buckets brought,
Higher and higher rose the flood around,
Till the fiends clapped their hands above their

master drowned!

So, Carolinian, it may prove with thee,

For God still overrules man's schemes, and takes
Craftiness in its self-set snare, and makes
The wrath of man to praise Him. It may be,
That the roused spirits of Democracy

May leave to freer States the same wide door
Through which thy slave-cursed Texas entered in,
From out the blood and fire, the wrong and sin,
Of the stormed city and the ghastly plain,
Beat by hot hail, and wet with bloody rain,
A myriad-handed Aztec host may pour,
And swarthy South with pallid North combine.
Back on thyself to turn thy dark design.

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.

MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone? 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 Rights all our own? In madness shall we barter, For treacherous peace, the freedom Nature gave us, God and our charter ?

Here shall the statesman forge his human fetters, Here the false jurist human rights deny,

And, in the church, their proud and skilled abettors Make truth a lie ?

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,
But stoop in chains upon her downward way,
Thicker to gather on her limbs and stronger

Day after day?

Oh, no; methinks from all her wild, green mountains

From valleys where her slumbering fathers lieFrom her blue rivers and her welling fountains, And clear, cold sky—

From her rough coast, and isles, which hungry Ocean

Gnaws with his surges from the fisher's skiff, With white sail swaying to the billows' motion Round rock and cliff

From the free fire-side of her unbought farmerFrom her free laborer at his loom and wheel

From the brown smith-shop, where, beneath the

hammer,

Rings the red steel

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

Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave;

And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it

Within her grave.

Oh, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing By Santee's wave, in Mississippi's cane,

Shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying,

Revive again.

Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing
Sadly upon us from afar, shall smile,

And unto God devout thanksgiving raising,
Bless us the while.

Oh, for your ancient freedom, pure and holy,
For the deliverance of a groaning earth,

For the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, and

lowly,

Let it go forth!

Sons of the best of fathers! will ye falter
With all they left ye perilled and at stake?
Ho! once again on Freedom's holy altar

The fire awake!

Prayer-strengthened for the trial, come together, Put on the harness for the moral fight,

And, with the blessing of your Heavenly Father, MAINTAIN THE RIGHT!

THE CURSE OF THE CHARTERBREAKERS.37

In Westminster's royal halls,
Robed in their pontificals,
England's ancient prelates stood
For the people's right and good.

Closed around the waiting crowd,
Dark and still, like winter's cloud,
King and council, lord and knight,
Squire and yeoman, stood in sight—

Stood to hear the priest rehearse,
In God's name, the Church's curse,
By the tapers round them lit,
Slowly, sternly uttering it.

"Right of voice in framing laws,
Right of peers to try each cause ;
Peasant homestead, mean and small,
Sacred as the monarch's hall-

"Whoso lays his hand on these,
England's ancient liberties—
Whoso breaks, by word or deed,
England's vow at Runnymede-

"Be he Prince or belted knight,
Whatsoe'er his rank or might,
If the highest, then the worst,
Let him live and die accursed.

"Thou, who to thy Church hast given
Keys alike, of hell and heaven,
Make our word and witness sure,
Let the curse we speak endure !"

Silent, while that curse was said,
Every bare and listening head
Bowed in reverent awe, and then
All the people said, Amen!

Seven times the bells have tolled,
For the centuries gray and old,
Since that stoled and mitred band
Cursed the tyrants of their land.

Since the priesthood, like a tower,
Stood between the poor and power;
And the wronged and trodden down
Blessed the abbot's shaven crown.

Gone, thank God, their wizard spell,
Lost, their keys of heaven and hell;
Yet I sigh for men as bold
As those bearded priests of old.

Now, too oft the priesthood wait
At the threshold of the state-
Waiting for the beck and nod
Of its power as law and God.

Fraud exults, while solemn words
Sanctify his stolen hoards;
Slavery laughs, while ghostly lips
Bless his manacles and whips.

Not on them the poor rely,

Not to them looks liberty,

Who with fawning falsehood cower
To the wrong, when clothed with power.

Oh! to see them meanly cling,
Round the master, round the king,
Sported with, and sold and bought-
Pitifuller sight is not!