"Robbers of Chios! hark," The victor cried, " to Heaven's decree! Then rose the long lament From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves: The priestess rent her hair and cried, "Woe! woe! The gods are sleepless-eyed!' And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, The lords of Chios into exile went. "The gods at last pay well," So Hellas sang her taunting song, "The fisher in his net is caught, The Chian hath his master bought; And isle from isle, with laughter long, Took up and sped the mocking parable. Once more the slow, dumb years Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. THE PROCLAMATION. SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds Out from the land of bondage, and be free!" Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven His prison opening to their golden keys, He rose a man who laid him down a slave, Into the glorious liberty of God. He cast the symbols of his shame away; Smarted with wrong, he prayed, "God pardon him!" So went he forth: but in God's time he came The land a saint that lost him as a slave. O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! Arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. Go forth, like him! like him return again, And heal with freedom what your slavery cursed. ANNIVERSARY POEM. [READ before the Alumni of the Friends' Yearly Meeting School, at the Annual Meeting at Newport, R. I., 15th 6th Mo., 1863.] ONCE more, dear friends, you meet beneath Not yet the sword has found its sheath, Yet trouble springs not from the ground, The Eternal order circles round, And wave and storm find mete and bound Full long our feet the flowery ways Content with creed and garb and phrase: Too cheaply truths, once purchased dear, Too long the world has smiled to hear To see us stir the martyr fires And wrap our satisfied desires But now the cross our worthies bore Profession's quiet sleep is o'er, The cry of innocent blood at last An answer in the whirlwind-blast, The land is red with judgments. Who Have we been faithful as we knew, How faint, through din of merchandise Have seemed to us the captive's cries! This day the fearful reckoning comes We hear amidst our peaceful homes The summons of the conscript drums, The bugle's call. Our path is plain; the war-net draws Round us in vain, While, faithful to the Higher Cause, The levelled gun, the battle-brand, But, calmly loyal, we can stand Why ask for ease where all is pain? Be left to add our gain to gain, To suffer well is well to serve The rigid lines of law shall curve And light is mingled with the gloom, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom Thanks for our privilege to bless. For fields of duty, opening wide, Are tasked the eager steps to guide Ours by traditions dear and old, Our wards to cherish and uphold, And we may tread the sick-bed floors And, down the groaning corridors, |