STANZAS FOR THE TIMES.

Must he be told his freedom stands

On Slavery's dark foundations strong-
On breaking hearts and fettered hands,
On robbery, and crime, and wrong?
That all his fathers taught is vain
That Freedom's emblem is the chain ?

Its life its soul, from slavery drawn?

False-foul-profane! Go― teach as well

Of holy Truth from Falsehood born!

Of Heaven refreshed by airs from Hell!
Of Virtue in the arms of Vice!
Of Demons planting Paradise!

Rail on, then, "brethren of the South
Ye shall not hear the truth the less
No seal is on the Yankee's mouth,

No fetter on the Yankee's press!
From our Green Mountains to the Sea,
One voice shall thunder- WE ARE FREE !

17

Kingdon sellin

THE FAREWELL

OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE.

G

ONE, gone sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,

THE FAREWELL.

Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air,

Gone, gone — sold and gone,

.

To the rice-swamp dank and lone, · From Virginia's hills and waters, Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash

Seams their back with many a gash,
Shall a mother's kindness bless them,
Or a mother's arms caress them.

Gone, gone — sold and

sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone

sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,

From the fields at night they go,

aint with toil, and racked with pain,

To their cheerless homes again

There no brother's voice shall greet them

There no father's welcome meet them.

Gone, gone

sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

From the tree whose shadow lay

On their childhood's place of play –

19

From the cool spring where they drank-
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there,

Gone, gone

-sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone

sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more!

Gone, gone sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone

sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

By the holy love He beareth

By the bruised reed He spareth
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.

Gone, gone sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

LINES.

21

LINES,

WRITTEN ON READING THE MESSAGE OF GOVERNOR RITNER, of PENNSYLVANIA, 1836.

one lip is still free unbending one knee !

Like the oak of the mountain, deep-rooted and firm,
Erect, when the multitude bends to the storm;
When traitors to Freedom, and Honor, and God,
Are bowed at an Idol polluted with blood;
When the recreant North has forgotten her trust,
And the lip of her honor is low in the dust,

Thank God, that one arm from the shackle has broken!
Thank God, that one man, as a freeman has spoken!

O'er thy crags, Alleghany, a blast has been blown!
Down thy tide, Susquehanna, the murmur has gone!
To the land of the South of the charter and chain
Of Liberty sweetened with Slavery's pain;
Where the cant of Democracy dwells on the lips
Of the forgers of fetters, and wielders of whips !
Where "chivalric " honor means really no more
Than scourging of women, and robbing the poor!
Where the Moloch of Slavery sitteth on high,

And the words which he utters are- WORSHIP, OR DIE!

Right onward, oh, speed it!

Wherever the blood

Of the wronged and the guiltless is crying to God;

Wherever a slave in his fetters is pining;
Wherever the lash of the driver is twining;
Wherever from kindred, torn rudely apart,
Comes the sorrowful wail of the broken of heart;
Wherever the shackles of tyranny bind,

In silence and darkness, the God-given mind;
There, God speed it onward!
The bonds shall be loosened

its truth will be felt

the iron shall melt!