He did not, with his pinchbeck ore,
His country's shame forgotten,
Gild Freedom's coffin o'er and o'er,
When all within was rotten.

"These loud ancestral boasts of yours,
How can they else than vex us?
Where were your dinner orators
When slavery grasped at Texas?
Dumb on his knees was every one
That now is bold as Cæsar,-
Mere pegs to hang an office on

Such stalwart men as these are."

"Good Sir," I said, "you seem much stirred; The sacred compromises

"Now God confound the dastard word!

My gall thereat arises:

Northward it hath this sense alone,

That you, your conscience blinding, Shall bow your fool's nose to the stone, When slavery feels like grinding.

""Tis shame to see such painted sticks
In Vane's and Winthrop's places,
To see your spirit of Seventy-six
Drag humbly in the traces,
With slavery's lash upon her back,
And herds of office-holders
To shout applause, as, with a crack,
It peels her patient shoulders.

"We forefathers to such a rout!-
No, by my faith in God's word!”
Half rose the ghost, and half drew out
The ghost of his old broadsword,

Then thrust it slowly back again,

And said, with reverent gesture, "No, Freedom, no! blood should not stain The hem of thy white vesture.

"I feel the soul in me draw near
The mount of prophesying;
In this bleak wilderness I hear

A John the Baptist crying;
Far in the east I see upleap

The streaks of first forewarning,
And they who sowed the light shall reap
The golden sheaves of morning.

"Child of our travail and our woe,
Light in our day of sorrow,
Through my rapt spirit I foreknow
The glory of thy morrow;

I hear great steps, that through the shade
Draw nigher still and nigher,

And voices call like that which bade
The prophet come up higher."

I looked, no form mine eyes could find,
I heard the red cock crowing,
And through my window-chinks the wind
A dismal tune was blowing;

Thought I, My neighbour Buckingham
Hath somewhat in him gritty,

Some Pilgrim-stuff that hates all sham,

And he will print my ditty.

ON THE CAPTURE OF CERTAIN FUGITIVE SLAVES NEAR WASHINGTON.

Look on who will in apathy, and stifle they who

can,

The sympathies, the hopes, the words, that make man truly man ;

Let those whose hearts are dungeoned up with interest or with ease

Consent to hear with quiet pulse of loathsome deeds like these!

I first drew in New England's air, and from her hardy breast

Sucked in the tyrant-hating milk that will not let me rest;

And if my words seem treason to the dullard and the tame,

'Tis but my Bay-State dialect,-our fathers spake the same!

Shame on the costly mockery of piling stone on

stone

To those who won our liberty, the heroes dead and

gone,

While we look coldly on, and see law-shielded ruffians slay

The men who fain would win their own, the heroes of to-day!

Are we pledged to craven silence? O fling it to the wind,

The parchment wall that bars us from the least of human kind,—

That makes us cringe and temporize, and dumbly stand at rest,

While Pity's burning flood of words is red-hot in the breast!

Though we break our fathers' promise, we have nobler duties first;

The traitor to Humanity is the traitor most accursed;

Man is more than Constitutions; better rot beneath the sod,

Than be true to Church and State while we are doubly false to God!

We owe allegiance to the State; but deeper, truer,

more,

To the sympathies that God hath set within our spirit's core ;

Our country claims our fealty; we grant it so, but then

Before Man made us citizens, great Nature made

us men.

He's true to God who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,

To the humblest and the weakest, neath the allbeholding sun,

That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base,

Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.

God works for all. Ye cannot hem the hope of being free

With parallels of latitude, with mountain-range or

sea.

Put golden padlocks on Truth's lips, be callous as

ye will,

From soul to soul o'er all the world, leaps one electric thrill.

Chain down your slaves with ignorance, ye cannot keep apart,

With all your craft of tyranny, the human heart from heart:

When first the Pilgrims landed on the Bay-State's iron shore,

The word went forth that slåvery should one day be no more.

Out from the land of bondage 'tis decreed our slaves shall go,

And signs to us are offered, as erst to Pharaoh;
If we are blind, their exodus, like Israel's of yore,
Through a Red Sea is doomed to be, whose surges
are of gore.

'Tis ours to save our brethren, with peace and love to win

Their darkened hearts from error, ere they harden it to sin;

But if before his duty man with listless spirit stands, Ere long the Great Avenger takes the work from out his hands.