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Shall thy line of battle falter,
With its allies just in view?
My Father-land, be true!
Speed them onward far and fast!
Like the Sybil's on the blast!
Lo! the Empire State is shaking
The shackles from her hand;' With the rugged North is waking
The level sunset land!
East and West and North they come,
Is the beat of Freedom's drum.
"To the tyrant's plot no favor!
No heed to place-fed knaves! Bar and bolt the door forever
Against the land of Slaves!" Hear it, mother Earth, and hear it,
The Heavens above us spread! The land is roused — its spirit
Was sleeping, but not dead!
.f. THE PINE TREE.
Wbittew on hearing that the Anti-Slavery Resolves of Stefhen C. Phillips had been rejected by the Whig Convention in Fanenil Hall, in 1846.
Lift again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield, Give to Northern winds the Pine Tree on our banner's tattered field,
Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles round the board,
Answering England's royal missive with a firm, "Thus Saith The Lord!"
Rise again for home and freedom ! — set the battle in array! — What the fathers did of old time we their sons must do to-day.
Tell us not of banks and tariffs — cease your paltry pedlar cries —
Shall the good State sink her honor that your gambling stocks may rise?
Would ye barter man for cotton ?— That your gains may be the same,
Must we kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children through the flame?
Is the dollar only real ?— God and truth and right a dream? Weighed against your lying ledgers must our manhood kick the beam?
Oh, my God !— for that free spirit, which of old in Boston town
Smote the Province House with terror, struck the crest of Andros down !—
For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's streets to cry: "Up for God and Massachusetts ! — Set your feet on Mammon's lie!
Perish banks and perish traffic — spin your cotton's latest pound — But in Heaven's name keep your honor — keep the heart o' the Bay State sound!"
Where's the Man for Massachusetts ?— Where's the voice to
speak her free ?— Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her mountains to
Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer ? — Sits she dumb in her despair ? —
Has she none to break the silence? — Has she none to do and dare?
Oh my God! for one right worthy to lift up her rusted shield, And to plant again the Pine Tree in her banner's tattered field! LINES,
SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO THE CITY OF WASHINGTON IN THE 12TH MONTH OF 1845.
With a cold and wintry noon-light,
On its roofs and steeples shed,
From the grey sky overhead,
Through this broad street, restless ever,
Ebbs and flows a human tide, Wave on wave a living river; Wealth and fashion side by side; Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.
Underneath yon dome, whose coping Springs above them, vast and tall, Grave men in the dust are groping For the largess, base and small, Which the hand of Power is scattering, crumbs which from its table fall.
Base of heart! They vilely barter
Yet, where festal lamps are' throwing
Gold-tressed, like an angel's flowing Backward on the sunset air; And the low quick pulse of music beats its measures sweet and rare:
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,
Other pictures dark and strange;
Hark! the heavy gate is swinging
On its hinges, harsh and slow;
On a fearful group below
Pitying God ! — Is that a Woman
Is that shriek she utters human,
Still the.dance goes gaily onward!
What is it to Wealth and Pride? That without the stars are looking On a scene which earth should hide? That the Slave-shif lies in waiting, rocking on Potomac's tide!
Vainly to that mean Ambition