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A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood
By storied hill and hallowed grot,
By mossy wood and marshy glen, Whence rang of old the rifle-shot,
And hurrying shout of Marion's men! The groan of breaking hearts is there
The falling lash the fetter's clank! Slaves SLAVES are breathing in that air, Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!
Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh ! What! mothers from their children riven!
What! God's own image bought and sold! AMERICANS to market driven,
And bartered as the brute for gold!
Speak! shall their agony of prayer
Come thrilling to our hearts in vain? To us whose fathers scorned to bear
The paltry menace of a chain;
What! shall we send, with lavish breath,
Strikes for his freedom, or a grave?
For Greece, the Moslem fetter spurning, And millions hail with pen and tongue
Our light on all her altars burning?
Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France,
The impulse of our cheering call?
Clank o'er our fields his hateful chain? And toss his fettered arms on high,
And groan for Freedom's gift, in vain ? Oh, 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?
Relax the iron hand of pride,
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 SulioteWill 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,
Scatter the living coals of Truth! Up-while ye slumber, deeper yet
The shadow of our fame is growing! Up- while ye pause, our sun may set
In blood, around our altars flowing!
Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth-
When hail and fire above it ran.
Feel ye no earthquake underneath? Up-up-why will ye slumber where The sleeper only wakes in death? Up now for Freedom! - not in strife Like that your sterner fathers saw The awful waste of human life
The glory and the guilt of war: But break the chain - the yoke remove, And smite to earth Oppression's rod, With those mild arms of Truth and Love, Made mighty through the living God!
Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood; Nor longer let its idol drink
His daily cup of human blood: But rear another altar there,
To Truth and Love and Mercy given, And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer, Shall call an answer down from Heaven!
UST God! - and these are they
What! preach and kidnap men?
Give thanks and rob thy own afflicted poor?
What! servants of thy own
Pilate and Herod, friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Paid hypocrites, who turn
Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book
Of those high words of truth which search and burn
Feed fat, ye locusts, feed!
And, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord
How long, O Lord! how long Shall such a priesthood barter truth away, And, in thy name, for robbery and wrong At thy own altars pray?
Is not thy hand stretched forth Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite? Shall not the living God of all the earth, And heaven above, do right?
Woe, then, to all who grind
Woe to the priesthood! woe
To those whose hire is with the price of blood—
Their glory and their might
Shall perish; and their very names shall be
Oh! speed the moment on When Wrong shall cease- - and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known
As in their home above.