From Wachuset, lone and bleak,
Unto Berkshire's tallest peak,
Let the flame-tongued heralds speak.

Ó! for God and duty stand,
Heart to heart and hand to hand,
Round the old graves of the land.

Whoso shrinks or falters now,
Whoso to the yoke would bow,
Brand the craven on his brow !

Freedom's soil hath only place
For a free and fearless race -
None for traitors false and base.

Perish party - perish clan ;
Strike together while ye can,
Like the arm of one strong man.

Like that angel's voice sublime,
Heard above a world of crime.
Crying of the end of time

With one heart and with one mouth,
Let the North unto the South
Speak the word befitting both :

“ What though Issachar be strong ! Ye may load his back with wrong Overmuch and over long :

Patience with her cup o'errun,
With her weary thread outspun,
Murmurs that her work is done.

Make our Union-bond a chain,
Weak as tow in Freedom's strain
Link by link shall snap in twain.

Vainly shall your sand-wrought rope
Bind the starry cluster up,
Shattered over heaven's blue cope!

Give us bright though broken rays,
Rather than eternal haze,
Clouding o'er the full-orbed blaze.

Take your land of sun and bloom ;
Only leave to Freedom room
For her plough, and forge, and loom ;

Take your slavery-blackened vales ;
Leave us but our own free gales,
Blowing on our thousand sails.

Boldly, or with treacherous art,
Strike the blood-wrought chain apart ;
Break the Union's mighty heart ;

Work the ruin, if ye will ;
Pluck upon your heads an ill
Which shall grow and deepen still.

With your bondman's right arm bare,
With his heart of black despair,
Stand alone, if stand ye

dare !

Onward with your fell design ;
Dig the gulf and draw the line :
Fire beneath your feet the mine :

Deeply, when the wide abyss
Yawns between your land and this,
Shall

ye
feel

your helplessness.

By the hearth, and in the bed,
Shaken by a look or tread,
Ye shall own a guilty dread.

And the curse of unpaid toil,
Downward through your generous soil
Like a fire shall burn and spoil.

Our bleak hills shall bud and blow,
Vines our rocks shall overgrow,
Plenty in our vallies flow;

And when vengeance clouds your skies,
Hither shall ye turn your eyes,
As the lost on Paradise !

We but ask our rocky strand,
Freedom's true and brother band,
Freedom's strong and honest hand, -

Valleys by the slave untrod,
And the Pilgrim's mountain sod,
Blessed of our fathers' God !”

TO FANEUIL HALL.

(WRITTEN in 1844, on reading a call by "a Massachusetts Freeman” for a meeting in Faneuil Hall of the citizens of Massachusetts, without distinction of party, opposed to the annexation of Texas, and the aggressions of South Carolina, and in favor of decisive action against Slavery.]

MEN ! - if manhood still ye claim,

If the Northern pulse can thrill,
Roused by wrong or stung by shame,

Freely, strongly still :
Let the sounds of traffic die :

Shut the mill-gate — leave the stall —
Fling the axe and hammer by -

Throng to Faneuil Hall !

Wrongs which freemen never brooked

Dangers grim and fierce as they,
Which, like couching lions, looked

On your fathers' way ;
These your instant zeal demand,

Shaking with their earthquake-call
Every rood of Pilgrim land -

Ho, to Faneuil Hall !

From your capes and sandy bars

From your mountain-ridges cold, Through whose pines the westering stars

Stoop their crowns of gold –
Come, and with your footsteps wake

Echoes from that holy wall :
Once again, for Freedom's sake,

Rock your fathers' hall !

Up, and tread beneath your feet

Every cord by party spun;
Let your hearts together beat

As the heart of one.
Banks and tariffs, stocks and trade,

Let them rise or let them fall :
Freedom asks your common aid

Up, to Faneuil Hall !

Up, and let each voice that speaks

Ring from thence to Southern plains, Sharply as the blow which breaks

Prison-bolts and chains ! Speak as well becomes the free

Dreaded more than steel or ball, Shall your calmest utterance be,

Heard from Faneuil Hall !

Have they wronged us ? Let us then

Render back nor threats nor prayers ; Have they chained our free-born men ?

LET US UNCHAIN THEIRS !

Up! your banner leads the van,

Blazoned "Liberty for all !”
Finish what your sires began

Up, to Faneuil Hall !

TO MASSACHUSETTS.

WRITTEN DURING THE PENDING OF THE TEXAS QUESTION.

What though around thee blazes

No fiery rallying sign ?
From all thy own high places,

Give heaven the light of thine !
What though unthrilled, unmoving,

The statesman stands apart,
And comes no warm approving

From Mammon's crowded mart ?

Still let the land be shaken

By a summons of thine own!
By all save truth forsaken,

Why, stand with that alone !
Shrink not from strife unequal !

With the best is always hope ;
And ever in the sequel

God holds the right side up !

But when, with thine uniting,

Come voices long and loud,
And far-off hills are writing

Thy fire-words on the cloud :
When from Penobscot's fountains

A deep response is heard,
And across the Western mountains

Rolls back thy rallying word ;