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The long bound vassal of the exulting South

For very shame her self-forged chain has brokenTorn the black seal of slavery from her mouth,

And in the clear tones of her old time spoken ! Oh, all undreamed of, all unhoped for changes !

The tyrant's ally proves his sternest foe;
To all his biddings, from her mountain ranges,

New Hampshire thunders an indignant No!
Who is it now despairs ? Oh, faint of heart,

Look upward to those Northern mountains cold,

Flouted by Freedom's victor-flag unrolled, And gather strength to bear a manlier part ! All is not lost. The angel of God's blessing.

Encamps with Freedom on the field of fight; Still to her banner, day by day, are pressing,

Unlooked for allies, striking for the right! Courage, then, Northern hearts !—Be firm, be true: What one brave State hath done, can ye not also

do ?

THE NEW YEAR:

ADDRESSED TO THE PATRONS OF THE PENNSYLVANIA FREEMAN.

The wave is breaking on the shore

The echo fading from the chime-
Again the shadow moveth o'er
The diale plate of time!

Oh, seer-seen Angel! waiting now

With weary feet on sea and shore, Impatient for the last dread vow

That time shall be no more!

Once more across thy sleepless eye

The semblance of a smile has passed; The year departing leaves more nigh

Time's fearfullest and last.

Oh! in that dying year hath been

The sum of all since time beganThe birth and death, the joy and pain,

Of Nature and of Man.

Spring, with her change of sun and shower,

And streams released from winter's chain, And bursting bud, and opening flower,

And greenly growing grain;

And Summer's shado, and sunshine warm,

And rainbows o'er her hill-tops bowed, And voices in her rising storm

God speaking from his cloud !And Autumn's fruits and clustering sheaves,

And soft, warm days of golden light,
The glory of her forest leaves,

And harvest-moon at night ;
And winter with her leafless grove,

And prisoned stream, and drifting snow,
The brilliance of her heaven above

And of her earth below :-
And man—in whom an angel's mind

With earth's low instincts finds abode
The highest of the links which bind

Brute nature to her God;

His infant eye hath seen the light, .

His childhood's merriest laughter rung, And active sports to manlier might

The nerves of boyhood strung ! And quiet love, and passion's fires,

Have soothed or burned in manhood's breast, And lofty aims and low desires

By turns disturbed his rest.

The wailing of the newly-born

llas mingled with the funeral knell; And o'er the dying's ear has gone

The merry marriage-bell. And Wealth has filled his halls with mirth,

While Want, in many a humble shed, Tailed, shivering by her cheerless hearth,

The live-long night for bread.
And worse than all — the human slave-

The sport of lust, and pride, and scorn! Plucked off the crown his Maker gave

His regal manhood gone!
Oh! still my country! o'er thy plains,

Blackened with slavery's blight and ban, That human chattel drags his chains

An uncreated man !

And still, where'er to sun and breeze,

My country, is thy flag unrolled,
With scorn, the gazing stranger sees

A stain on every fold.
Oh, tear the gorgeous emblem down!

It gathers scorn from every eye,
And despots smile, and good men frown,

Whene'er it passes by. Shame ! shame ! its starry splendors glow

Above the slaver's loathsome jail-
Its folds are ruffling even now

His crimson flag of sale.
Still round our country's proudest hall

The trade in human flesh is driven,
And at each careless hammer-fall

A human heart is riven.

And this, too, sanctioned by the men,

Vested with power to shield the ught,
And throw each vile and robber den

Wide open to the light.
Yet shame upon them !—there they sit,

Men of the North, subdued and still ;
Meek, pliant poltroons, only fit

To work a master's will.

Sold—bargained off for Southern votes

A passive herd of Northern mules, Just braying through their purchased throats

Whate'er their owner rules.

And he 35—the basest of the base

The vilest of the vile--whose name, Embalmed in infinite disgrace,

Is deathless in its shame !

A tool-to bolt the people's door

Against the people clamoring there, An ass—to trample on their floor

A people's right of prayer!

Nailed to his self-made gibbet fast,

Self-pilloried to the public view,
A mark for every passing blast

Of scorn to whistle through ;
There let him hang, and hear the boast

Of Southrons o'er their pliant tool
A St. Stylites on his post,

“ Sacred to ridicule !”

Look we at home !-our noble hall,

To Freedom's holy purpose given, Now rears its black and ruined wall,

Beneath the wintry heaven

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Telling the story of its doom

The fiendish mob—the prostrate law-
The fiery jet through midnight's gloom,

Our gazing thousands saw.
Look to our State—the poor man's right

Torn from him :—and the sons of those
Whose blood in Freedom's sternest fight

Sprinkled the Jersey snows, Vutlawed within the land of Penn,

That Slavery's guilty fears might cease, And those whom God created men,

Toil on as brutes in peace.

Yet o'er the blackness of the storm,

A bow of promise bends on high,
And gleams of sunshine, soft and warm,

Break through our clouded sky.
East, West, and North, the shout is heard,

Of freemen rising for the right :
Each valley hath its rallying word-

Each hill its signal light.
O'er Massachusetts' rocks of grey,

The strengthening light of freedom shines, Rhode Island's Narragansett Bay-.

And Vermont's snow-hung pines !

From Hudson's frowning palisades

To Alleghany's laurelled crest,
O'er lakes and prairies, streams and glades,

It shines upon the West.
Speed on the light to those who dwell

In Slavery's land of woe and sin,
And through the blackness of that hell,

Let Heaven's own light break in.

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