In the sunny Guadaloupe

A dark-hulled vessel lay, With a crew who noted never The nightfall or the day. The blossom of the orange

Was white by every stream, And tropic leaf, and flower, and bird Were in the warm sunbeam.

And the sky was bright as ever,

And the moonlight slept as well, On the palm-trees by the hillside, And the streamlet of the dell; And the glances of the Creole Were still as archly deep, And her smiles as full as ever Of passion and of sleep. But vain were bird and blossom, The green earth and the sky, And the smile of human faces,

To the slaver's darkened eye; At the breaking of the morning, At the star-lit evening time, O'er a world of light and beauty Fell the blackness of his crime.

STANZAS.

["The despotism which our fathers could not bear in their native country is expiring, and the sword of justice in her reformed hands has applied its exterminating edge to slavery. Shall the United States - the free United States, which could not bear the bonds of a king-cradle the bondage which a king is abolishing? Shall a Republic be less free than a Monarchy? Shall we, in the vigor and buoyancy of our manhood, be less energetic in righteousness than a kingdom in its age?" Dr. Follen's Address.

"Genius of America! Spirit of our free institutions! where art thou? How art thou fallen, O Lucifer! son of the morning, -how art thou fallen from Heaven! Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming! The kings of the earth cry out to thee, Aha! Aha!- ART THOU BECOME LIKE UNTO US!"— Speech of Samuel J. May

OUR fellow-countrymen in chains!

Slaves in a land of light and law: Slaves crouching on the very plains Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war!

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Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France, By Vendome's pile and Schoenbrun's wall,

And Poland, gasping on her lance,
The impulse of our cheering call?
And shall the SLAVE, beneath our eye,
Clank o'er our fields his hateful
chain?

And toss his fettered arms on high,
And groan for Freedom's gift, in vain?

O, say, shall Prussia's banner be

A refuge for the stricken slave? And shall the Russian serf go free By Baikal's lake and Neva's wave? And shall the wintry-bosomed Dane Relax the iron hand of pride, And bid his bondmen cast the chain, From fettered soul and limb, aside?

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 Suliote, Will 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 graybeard eld to fiery youth,

And lightly and freely her dark tresses play

O'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?

'Tis the great Southern planter, — the master who waves

His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves.

"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 them,

For shame, Ellen, shame, -cast thy bondage aside,

And away to the South, as my blessing and pride.

"O, come where no winter thy footsteps

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TO W. L. G.

CHAMPION of those who groan beneath
Oppression's
's iron hand:

In view of penury, hate, and death,
I see thee fearless stand.
Still bearing up thy lofty brow,

In the steadfast strength of truth,
In manhood sealing well the vow
And promise of thy youth.

Go on, for thou hast chosen well;
On in the strength of God!
Long as one human heart shall swell
Beneath the tyrant's rod.
Speak in a slumbering nation's ear,

As thou hast ever spoken,
Until the dead in sin shall hear, -
The fetter's link be broken!

I love thee with a brother's love,

I feel my pulses thrill,

To mark thy spirit soar above

The cloud of human ill.

My heart hath leaped to answer thine,
And echo back thy words,
As leaps the warrior's at the shine
And flash of kindred swords!

They tell me thou art rash and vain -
A searcher after fame;

That thou art striving but to gain

A long-enduring name;

That thou hast nerved the Afric's hand
And steeled the Afric's heart,
To shake aloft his vengeful brand,
And rend his chain apart.

Have I not known thee well, and read
Thy mighty purpose long?

And watched the trials which have made Thy human spirit strong?

And shall the slanderer's demon breath
Avail with one like me,

To dim the sunshine of my faith
And earnest trust in thee?

Go on, the dagger's point may glare
Amid thy pathway's gloom,

The fate which sternly threatens there
Is glorious martyrdom!

Then onward with a martyr's zeal ;
And wait thy sure reward

When man to man no more shall kneel,
And God alone be Lord!

1833.

SONG OF THE FREE.

PRIDE of New England!
Soul of our fathers!

Shrink we all craven-like,
When the storm gathers?
What though the tempest be
Over us lowering,
Where's the New-Englander
Shamefully cowering?
Graves green and holy
Around us are lying,
Free were the sleepers all,
Living and dying!

Back with the Southerner's
Padlocks and scourges !

All bithe are our hunters, and noble their match, Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.

So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen, Through cane-brake and forest, - the hunting of men!

Gay luck to our hunters!-how nobly they ride

In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!

The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,

Just screening the politic statesman behind,

The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,

The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there. And woman, — kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,

For the good of the hunted, is lending

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The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,

Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.

Haste,-alms for our hunters! the hunted once more

Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:

What right have they here in the home of the white,

Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?

Ho!-alms for the hunters! or never again

Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!

ALMS,

ALMS for our hunters! why will ye delay,

When their pride and their glory are melting away?

The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,

Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone? The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,

There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.

O, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,

And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.

O, haste, ere he leave us ! for who will ride then,

For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?

1835.

CLERICAL OPPRESSORS.

[In the report of the celebrated proslavery meeting in Charleston, S. C., on the 4th of the 9th month, 185, published in the Courier of that city, it is stated. The CLERGY of all denominations attended in a body, LENDING THEIR SANCTION TO THE PROCEEDINGS, and adding by their presence to the impressive character of the scene!"]

JUST God!-and these are they Who minister at thine altar, God of Right!