Look to it well, Virginians! In calmness we have borne, We wage no war, we lift no arm, we fling no torch within But for us and for our children, the vow which we have given THE RELIC. [PENNSYLVANIA HALL, dedicated to Free Discussion and the cause of human liberty, was destroyed by a mob in 1838. The following was written on receiving a cane wrought from a fragment of the wood-work which the fire had spared.] THE BRANDED HAND. Wreck of a temple, unprofaned, Of courts where Peace with Freedom Lifting on high, with hands unstained, Where Mercy's voice of love was plead- For human hearts in bondage bleed- Where, midst the sound of rushing feet hat temple now in ruin lies! - Its black and roofless hall, 1. stands before a nation's sight, A gravestone over buried Right! But from that ruin, as of old, 83 The fire-scorched stones themselves And from their ashes white and cold A voice which slavery cannot kill And even this relic from thy shrine, And, grasping it, methinks I feel And not unlike that mystic rod, Of old stretched o'er the Egyptian Which opened, in the strength of God, It yet may point the bondman's way, THE BRANDED HAND. 1846. WELCOME 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 Is the tyrant's brand upon thee? Did the brutal cravens aim To make God's truth thy falsehood, his holiest work thy shame? They change to wrong the duty which God hath written out They, the loathsome moral lepers, blotched from footsole up to crown, Why, that brand is highest honor!-than its traces never yet As the Templar home was welcome, bearing back from Syrian wan The pallor of the prison, and the shackle's crimson span, So we meet thee, so we greet thee, truest friend of God and man. He suffered for the ransom of the dear Redeemer's grave, For, while the jurist, sitting with the slave-whip o'er him swung, While the multitude in blindness to a far-off Saviour knelt, And spurned, the while, the temple where a present Saviour dwelt ; In thy lone and long night-watches, sky above and wave below, That the one sole sacred thing beneath the cope of heaven is Man! That he who treads profanely on the scrolls of law and creed, Then lift that manly right-hand, bold ploughman of the wave! Hold it up before our sunshine, up against our Northern air, - yore, And the tyrants of the slave-land shall tremble at that sign, TO FANEUIL HALL. O, for God and duty stand, Whoso shrinks or falters now, Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race, None for traitors false and base. Perish party,- Like that angel's voice sublime, With one heart and with one mouth, "What though Issachar be strong! "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. 85 "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 "By the hearth, and in the bed, "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 valleys flow; "And when vengeance clouds your skies, Hither shall ve turn your eyes, "We but ask our rocky strand, "Valleys by the slave untrod, And the Pilgrim's mountain sod, Blessed of our fathers' God!" TO FANEUIL HALL. MEN! if manhood still ye claim, 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 neverbrooked,- 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 Up, and tread beneath your feet Up, and let each voice that speaks 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. 1844. 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, Thy fire-words on the cloud; Shall thy line of battle falter, Like the sibyl's on the blast! Lo! the Empire State is shaking The shackles from her hand; On they come, the free battalions! 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! |