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The voice of a PEOPLE - uprisen - awake -
MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA.
*HE blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern
way, Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay :No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal, Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel. No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go — Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow ; And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far, A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war.
We hear thy threats, Virginia ! thy stormy words and high,
Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank Cold on the shore of Labrador the fog lies white and dank; Through storm and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts
which man The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann.
The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms, Bent grimly o'er their straining lines or wrestling with the storms; Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam, They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their rocky home.
What means the Old Dominion ? Hath she forgot the day
Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call
What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved
We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell
Thank God! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow;
cool, She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool !
All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may,
Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's
free air With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild de
spair; Cling closer to the “cleaving curse” that writes upon your plains The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains.
Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old,
Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginian name;
A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's shrine hath
been, Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain
The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still
And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey
spoke; How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke !
A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on high,
rang, And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics
The voice of free, broad Middlesex of thousands as of one
From rich and rural Worcester, where through the calm repose Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows, To where Wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of “God save Latimer ! ”
And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt sea spray-
The voice of Massachusetts ! Of her free sons and daughters Deep calling unto deep aloud — the sound of many waters ! Against the burden of that voice what tyrant power shall stand ? No fetters in the Bay State! No slave upon her land !
Look to it well, Virginians! In calmness we have borne,
lives And shaken round our hearths and homes your manacles and
We wage no war — we lift no arm - we fling no torch within The fire-damps of the quaking mine beneath your soil of sin; We leave ye with your bondmen, to wrestle, while ye can, With the strong upward tendencies and God-like soul of man !
But for us and for our children, the vow which we have given
- no pirate on our strand ! No fetters in the Bay State no slave upon our land !
THE BRANDED HAND.
WELrow and gray,
ELCOME home again, brave seaman! with thy thoughtful brow and
gray, And the old heroic spirit of our earlier, better day, With that front of calm endurance, on whose steady nerve, in vain Pressed the iron of the prison, smote the fiery shafts of pain !
Is the tyrant's brand upon thee? Did the brutal cravens aim
They change to wrong, the duty which God hath written out
crown, Give to shame what God hath given unto honor and renown !
Why, that brand is highest honor ! than its traces never yet
As the Templar home was welcome, bearing back from Syrian wars
He suffered for the ransom of the dear Redeemer's grave,