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There to-night shall woman's glances,
Star-like, welcome give to them,
Fawning fools with shy advances

Seek to touch their garments' hem, With the tongue of flattery glozing deeds

which God and Truth condemn.

From this glittering lie my vision
Takes a broader, sadder range,
Full before me have arisen

Other pictures dark and strange ; From the parlor to the prison must the scene and witness change.

Hark! the heavy gate is swinging
On its hinges, harsh and slow;
One pale prison lamp is flinging
On a fearful group below

Such a light as leaves to terror whatsoe'er it does not show.

Pitying God! Is that a WOMAN

Ón whose wrist the shackles clash? Is that shriek she utters human,

Underneath the stinging lash? Are they MEN whose eyes of madness

from that sad procession flash?

Still the dance goes gayly onward! What is it to Wealth and Pride That without the stars are looking On a scene which earth should hide? That the SLAVE-SHIP lies in waiting, rocking on Potomac's tide!

Vainly to that mean Ambition
Which, upon a rival's fall,
Winds above its old condition,
With a reptile's slimy crawl,

Shall the pleading voice of sorrow, shall the slave in anguish call.

Vainly to the child of Fashion,
Giving to ideal woe

Graceful luxury of compassion,

Shall the stricken mourner go; Hateful seems the earnest sorrow, beau

tiful the hollow show!

Nay, my words are all too sweeping:
In this crowded human mart,
Feeling is not dead, but sleeping:

Man'sstrong will and woman'sheart, In the coming strife for Freedom, yet shall bear their generous part.

And from yonder sunny valleys, Southward in the distance lost, Freedom yet shall summon allies Worthier than the North can boast, With the Evil by their hearth-stones grappling at severer cost.

Now, the soul alone is willing:

Faint the heart and weak the knee; And as yet no lip is thrilling

With the mighty words, "BE FREE!" Tarrieth long the land's Good Angel, but his advent is to be!

Meanwhile, turning from the revel
To the prison-cell my sight,
For intenser hate of evil,

For a keener sense of right, Shaking off thy dust, I thank thee, City of the Slaves, to-night!

"To thy duty now and ever!

Dream no more of rest or stay; Give to Freedom's great endeavor All thou art and hast to-day":— Thus, above the city's murmur, saith a Voice, or seems to say.

Ye with heart and vision gifted To discern and love the right, Whose worn faces have been lifted To the slowly-growing light, Where from Freedom's sunrise drifted slowly back the murk of night!Ye who through long years of trial Still have held your purpose fast, While a lengthening shade the dial From the westering sunshine cast, And of hope each hour's denial seemed an echo of the last!

O my brothers! O my sisters i Would to God that ye were near, Gazing with me down the vistas Of a sorrow strange and drear; Would to God that ye were listeners to the Voice I seem to hear!

With the storm above us driving,

With the false earth mined below,Who shall marvel if thus striving We have counted friend as foe; Unto one another giving in the darknes blow for blow.

YORKTOWN.

Well it may be that our natures

Have grown sterner and more hard, And the freshness of their features Somewhat harsh and battle-scarred, And their harmonies of feeling overtasked and rudely jarred.

Be it so. It should not swerve us From a purpose true and brave; Dearer Freedom's rugged service Than the pastime of the slave; Better is the storm above it than the quiet of the grave.

Let us then, uniting, bury
All our idle feuds in dust,
And to future conflicts carry

Mutual faith and common trust; Always he who most forgiveth in his brother is most just.

From the eternal shadow rounding All our sun and starlight here, Voices of our lost ones sounding

Bid us be of heart and cheer, Through the silence, down the spaces, falling on the inward ear.

Know we not our dead are looking Downward with a sad surprise, All our strife of words rebuking

With their mild and loving eyes? Shall we grieve the holy angels? Shall we cloud their blessed skies?

Let us draw their mantles o'er us
Which have fallen in our way;
Let us do the work before us,

Cheerly, bravely, while we may, Ere the long night-silence cometh, and with us it is not day!

LINES,

FROM A LETTER TO A YOUNG CLERICAL FRIEND.

A STRENGTH Thy service cannot tire,A faith which doubt can never dim,

A heart of love, a lip of fire,

O Freedom's God! be thou to him!

Speak through him words of power and fear,

As through thy prophet bards of old, And let a scornful people hear

Once more thy Sinai-thunders rolled.

For lying lips thy blessing seek,

And handsof blood are raised to Thee, And on thy children, crushed and weak, The oppressor plants his kneeling knee.

Let then, O God! thy servant dare Thy truth in all its power to tell, Unmask the priestly thieves, and tear The Bible from the grasp of hell!

From hollow rite and narrow span

Of law and sect by Thee released, O, teach him that the Christian man Is holier than the Jewish priest.

Chase back the shadows, gray and old,
Of the dead ages, from his way,
And let his hopeful eyes behold

The dawn of thy millennial day;

That day when fettered limb and mind Shall know the truth which maketh free,

And he alone who loves his kind
Shall, childlike, claim the love of
Thee!

YORKTOWN.34

FROM Yorktown's ruins, ranked and

still,

Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill: Who curbs his steed at head of one? Hark! the low murmur: Washington! Who bends his keen, approving glance Where down the gorgeous line of France Shine knightly star and plume of snow? Thou too art victor, Rochambeau !

The earth which bears this calm array Shook with the war-charge yesterday, Ploughed deep with hurrying hoof and wheel,

Shot-sown and bladed thick with steel; October's clear and noonday sun

Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun,

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3purned not alone in walks abroad, But from the "temples of the Lord" Thrust out apart, like things abhorred.

Ieep as I felt, and stern and strong, In words which Prudence smothered long,

My soul spoke out against the wrong;

Not mine alone the task to speak
Of comfort to the poor and weak,
And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek;

But, mingled in the conflict warm,
To pour the fiery breath of storm
Through the harsh trumpet of Reform;

To brave Opinion's settled frown,
From ermined robe and saintly gown,
While wrestling reverenced Error down.

Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, Cool shadows on the greensward lay, Flowers swung upon the bending spray.

And, broad and bright, on either hand, Stretched the green slopes ofFairy-land, With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned;

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Whence voices called me like the flow, Which on the listener's ear will grow, Of forest streamlets soft and low.

And gentle eyes, which still retain Their picture on the heart and brain, Smiled, beckoning from that path pain.

In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause

Remain for him who round him draws The battered mail of Freedom's cause.

From youthful hopes, from each

green spot

Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, Where storm and tumult enter not,

From each fair altar, where belong The offerings Love requires of Song In homage to her bright-eyed throng,

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With soul and strength, with heart and hand,

I turned to Freedom's struggling band,To the sad Helots of our land.

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What matters it !-a few years more,
Life's surge so restless heretofore
Shall break upon the unknown shore !

In that far land shall disappear
The shadows which we follow here, -
The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere !

Before no work of mortal hand,
Of human will or strength expand
The pearl gates of the Better Land;

Alone in that great love which gave
Life to the sleeper of the grave,
Resteth the power to "seek and save."

Yet, if the spirit gazing through
The vista of the past can view

One deed to Heaven and virtue true,

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The simple burst of tenderest feeling From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, For blessing on the hand of healing,

Better than Glory's pomp will be
That green and blessed spot to me, -
A palm-shade in Eternity!-

Something of Time which may invite
The purified and spiritual sight
To rest on with a calm delight.

And when the summer winds shall sweep

With their light wings my place of sleep,
And mosses round my headstone creep,-

If still, as Freedom's rallying sign,
Upon the heart's altars shine
The very fires they caught from mine,

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And if it deepens in thy mind
A sense of suffering human-kind,
The outcast and the spirit-blind:
Oppressed and spoiled on every side,
By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride,
Life's common courtesies denied ;

Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust
Children by want and misery nursed,
Tasting life's bitter cup at first;

If to their strong appeals which com
From fireless hearth, and crowded room
And the close alley's noisome gloom,.-

Though dark the hands upraised to thes
In mute beseeching agony,
Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy,

Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, Where Love, and Mirth, and Friend ship twine

Their varied gifts, I offer mine.

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