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SONG OF THE FREE.

PRIDE of New England !

Soul of our fathers ! Shrink we all craven-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 waters Never 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,

Haste we, and summon Courage and loveliness,

Manhood and woman! Deep let our pledges be:

Freedom for ever!
Truce with oppression,

Never, oh! never !
By our own birthright-gift,
Granted of Heaven

Freedom for heart and lip,

Be the pledge given!

If we have whispered truth,

Whisper no longer;
Speak as the tempest does,

Sterner and stronger;
Still be the tones of truth

Louder and firmer,
Startling the haughty South

With the deep murmur:
God and our charter's right,

Freedom for ever!
Truce with oppression,

Never, oh! never!

1836.

men ?

THE HUNTERS OF MEN. HAVE

ye

heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and

glen, Through cane-brake and forest—the hunting of The lords of our land to this hunting have gone, As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn; Hark !—the cheer and the hallo !the crack of the

whip, And the yeli of the hound as he fastens his grip! All blithe are our hunters, and noble their matchThough hundreds are caught, there are millions to

catch. So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen, Through cane-brake and forest—the hunting

men !

of

Gay luck to our hunters !—how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their

pride !

The priest with his cassock flung back on the

wind, Just screening the politic statesman behindThe saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayerThe drunk and the sober, ride merrily there. And woman--kind woman--wife, widow, and maid. For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid : Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein, How blithely she rides to the hunting of men! Oh! goodly and grand is our hunting to see, In this “ land of the brave and this home of the

free.” Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to

Maine, All mounting the saddle-all grasping the reinRight merrily hunting the black man, whose sin Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin ! Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay ! Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and Will their hearts fail within them ?-their nerves

tremble, when All roughly they ride to the hunting of men ? Ho!-ALMs for our hunters ! all weary and faint Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the

saint. The horn is wound faintly—the echoes are still, Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill. Haste-alms for our hunters ! the hunted once more Have turned from their flight with their backs to

the shore : What right have they here in the home of the white, Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and

Right? Ho!-alms for the hunters ! or never again Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of

prey ?

men!

ALMs—ALMs for our hunters ! why will ye delay, When their pride and their glory are melting away? The

parson has turned; for, on charge of his own, Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone ? The politic statesman looks back with a sighThere is doubt in his heart—there is fear in his eye Oh! haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail, And the head of his steed take the place of the tail. Oh! haste, ere he leave us ! for who will ride then, For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men ?

1835.

CLERICAL OPPRESSORS.

(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 impressive char acter of the scene!”]

Just God !-and these are they Who minister at thine altar, God of Right! Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay

On Israel's Ark of light !

What! preach and kidnap men ?
Give thanks--and rob thy own afflicted poor?
Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then

Bolt hard the captive's door ?

What! servants of thy own
Merciful Son, who came to seek and save
T'he homeless and the outcast,—fettering down

The tasked and plundered slave!

Pilate and Herod, friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy ! is that church, which lends

Strength to the spoiler, thine ?

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 tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord
That, from the toiling bondman's utter need,

Ye pile your own full board.

How long, O Lord ! how long
Shall such a priesthood barter truth away,
And, in thy name, for robbery and wrong

At thy own altars pray?

Is not thy hand stretched forth Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite ? Shall not the living God of all the earth,

And heaven above, do right?

Woe, then, to all who grind
Their brethren of a common Father down!
To all who plunder from the immortal mind

Its bright and glorious crown!

Woe to the priesthood! woe To those whose hire is with the price of blood Perverting, darkening, changing as they go,

The searching truths of God !

Their glory and their might
Shall perish ; and their very names shall be
Vile before all the people, in the light

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.

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