THE FAREWELL Of a Virginia Slave Mother to her Daughters, sold into Southern Bondage. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Gone, gone,-sold and gone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Gone, gone-sold and gone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, There no brother's voice shall greet them- Gone, gone-sold and gone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone- Gone, gone-sold and gone, Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and loneBy the holy love He bearethBy the bruised reed He sparethOh, may He, to whom alone All their cruel wrongs are known, Still their hope and refuge prove, With a more than mother's love. Gone, gone-sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters,— Woe is me, my stolen daughters! WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. BY CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. We have been friends together, In sunshine and in shade, We have laughed at little jests We have been sad together; THE FEMALE MARTYR. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Mary G, aged 18, a "SISTER OF CHARITY," died in one of our Atlantic cities, during the prevalence of the Indian Cholera, while in voluntary attendance upon the sick. "Bring out your dead!" the midnight street Heard and gave back the hoarse, low call; Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet Glanced through the dark the coarse white sheetHer coffin and her pall. "What-only one!" The brutal hackman said, As, with an oath, he spurn'd away the dead. How sunk the inmost hearts of all, As roll'd that dead-cart slowly by, With creaking wheel and harsh hoof-fall! To hear it and to die ! Onward it roll'd; while oft its driver stay'd, It paused beside the burial-place; "Toss in your load!"—and it was done.-- They cast them, one by one- Nor flower, nor cross, nor hallow'd taper gave Yet, gentle sufferer!-there shall be, In every heart of kindly feeling, A rite as holy paid to thee As if beneath the convent-tree Thy sisterhood were kneeling, At vesper hours, like sorrowing angels, keeping Their tearful watch around thy place of sleeping. For thou wast one in whom the light Of Heaven's own love was kindled well, Far more than words may tell : Where manly hearts were failing,-where The throngful street grew foul with death, Poison with every breath. VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. No. 18. POEMS ON SOME INCIDENTS OF ANTI-SLAVERY. TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS Was it right, While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled, COLERIDGE. Late President of Western Reserve College. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. "He fell a martyr to the interests of his colored brethren. For many months did that mighty man of God apply his discriminating and gigantic mind to the subject of Slavery and The general history of any one radical reform is the history of all. There is, at first, the deep conviction of right, and devotedness to the truth what-its ever betide, opposed by the scorn, loathing, and hatred of the mass. Then comes open violence beating down, if possible, the firm endurance of men who have foreseen the peril and do not fear to brave it. Then is heard above the clamor the voices of some few whom the world calls noble, who yet by the world's love are not altogether corrupt. And then peal upon peal arise the shouts of victory after victory by those who, once dispised, are now going on conquering and to conquer. Then high names are given to martyrs; and men believing them to be God-sent, and therefore inimitable, sit down with folded arms while the roar, it may be, of a yet mightier combat is raging around them. Such was the case when Socrates drank the hemlock; when Jesus was the Word-made-flesh, and was nailed to the cross; when Luther rocked Catholicdom with its array of soulless mummeries and countless heresies, to its foundation; when George Fox shook priestdom in England sorely; and when Sharpe and Wilberforce and Clarkson pleaded for the rights against the powers of men, and gave to the world a most noble proof of Truth's might. And such too, is now the case when Anti-Slavery-that only democracy which our nation has-defying the triple alliance of Love of Power with Love of Gold and Hatred of Man, has kept to the breeze its banner these more than twenty years, bearing it up and down through church aisles and legislative halls, flapping it in the faces of drowsy wealth and rank, and, from beneath it, pouring out defiance and resolve upon the startled ear of oppression. In that warfare have been many incidents right worthy of the poet's song. And well have some of them been used. I have hastily thrown together such poems upon them as are at hand, with this eulogium-that never in any struggle did more Manly and Christian poetry gush up from the deep fountains of the soul. remedy: and, when his soul could no longer contain his holy indignation against the upholders and apologists of this sat at his feet and looked up as children to a parent."—Cor- Thou martyr of the Lord! And the sinful lip reviles, When to our cup of trembling The added drop is given, Falls terribly from Heaven,- Is proffer'd of the Lord The Pestilence and Sword!— When the refuges of Falsehood Shall be swept away in wrath, With its idol to the earth,- Oppression's hand may scatter For lying lips shall torture Thy mercy into crime, And the slanderer shall flourish As the bay-tree for a time. But, where the South-wind lingers Down Georgia's golden mines,- Where Mammon hath its alters Joy to thy spirit, brother! A thousand hearts are warm A thousand kindred bosoms Lo-the waking up of nations, From Slavery's fatal sleepThe murmur of a UniverseDeep calling unto Deep! Joy to thy spirit, brother! On every wind of Heaven The onward cheer and summons Of FEEEDOM'S SOUL is given! Glory to God for ever! Beyond the despot's will The soul of Freedom liveth Imperishable still. The words which thou hast utter'd Are of that soul a part And the good seed thou hast scatter'd Is springing from the heart. In the evil days before us, And the trials yet to come In the shadow of the prison, We will think of thee, O brother! SONG OF THE FREE. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. "Living, I shall assert the right of FREE DISCUSSION ; dying, I shall assert it; and, should I leave no other inheri tance to my children, by the blessing of God I will leave them the inheritance of FREE PRINCIPLES, and the example of a manly and independent defence of them."-Daniel Webster. Pride of New England! Soul of our fathers! Shrink we all cravan-like, When the storm gathers? What though the tempest be Over us lowering, Where's the New Englander Shamefully cowering? Graves green and holy Around us are lying,Free were the sleepers all, Living and dying! Back with the Southerner's Padlocks and scourges! Go-let him fetter down Ocean's free surges ! Go-let him silence Winds, clouds, and watersNever New England's own Free sons and daughters! Free as our rivers are Ocean-ward goingFree as the breezes are Over us blowing. Up to our altars, then, Manhood and woman! If we have whisper'd truth, Never, oh! never! CLERICAL OPPRESSORS. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. In the Report of the celebrated pro-slavery meeting in Charleston, S. C., on the 4th of the 9th month, 1835, published in the Courier of that city, it is stated, "The CLERGY of all denominations attended in a body, LENDING THEIR SANCTION TO THE PROCEEDINGS, and adding by their presence to the impres sive character of the scene!" Just God!-and these are they Who minister at Thine altar, God of Right! What! preach and kidnap men? Bolt hard the captive's door? What! servants of Thy own Merciful Son, who came to seek and save 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 In warning and rebuke. Feed fat, ye locusts, feed! And, in your tassel'd pulpits, thank the Lord How long, O Lord! how long Is not thy hand stretch'd forth Woe, then, to all who grind Their brethren of a Common Father down! 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 Of A WORLD'S LIBERTY. 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. TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS SHIPLEY. President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, who died on the 17th of the 9th month, 1836, a devoted Christian and Philanthropist. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest! Of Shiloah's waters softly flowing! And wandering by that sacred river, Gentlest of spirits!-not for thee Our tears are shed-our sighs are given: Why mourn to know thou art a free Partaker of the joys of Heaven? When Autumn's sun is downward going, But woe for us! who linger still With feebler strength and hearts less lowly, And minds less steadfast to the will Of Him whose every work is holy. And for the outcast and forsaken, Darkly upon our struggling way The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey, Our watch amidst the darkness keeping! Oh! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man! Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true, And constant in the hour of trial, Prepared to suffer, or to do, In meekness and in self-denial. Oh! for that spirit, meek and mild, Derided, spurned, yet uncomplainingBy man deserted and reviled, Yet faithful to its trust remaining. Still prompt and resolute to save From scourge and chain the hunted slave! Unwavering in the Truth's defence, Even where the fires of Hate are burning, Th' unquailing eye of innocence Alone upon th' oppressor turning! |
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