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So shall the Southern conscience quake,
Before that light poured full and strong,
To all the bondman's wrong.
The song of grateful millions rise,
Beneath Arabia's skies:
And all who now are bound beneath
Our banner's shade—our eagle's wing,
To light and life shall spring.
The master's guilt, and hate, and fear,
A New and Happy Year.
MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA.
[WRITTEN on reading an account of the proceedings of the citi, zens of Norfolk, Va., in reference to George LATIMER, the alleged fugitive slave, the result of whose case in Massachusetts will probably be similar to that of the negro SOMERSET in England, in 1772.)
THIE blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon
Southern way, Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts
Bay: No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's
peal, Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of
No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our high
ways go Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the
Snow; And to the land breeze of our ports, upon their
errands far, A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are
spread for war. We hear thy threats, Virginia! thy stormy words
and high, Swell harshly on the Southern winds which melt
along our sky; Yet, not one brown, hard hand forgoes its honest
labor hereNo hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe
Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St.
George's bankCold on the shore of Labrador the fog lies white
aud dank; Through storm, and wave, and blinding mist, stout
are the bearis which man The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of
Cape Ann. The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their
icy forms, Bent grimly o’er their straining lines or wrestling
with the storms; Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the
waves they roam, They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their
rocky home. What means the Old Dominion ? Hath ske forgot When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's
How side by side, with sons of hers, the Massachus
setts men Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout
Cornwallis, then ?
Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the
call Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from
Faneuil Hall ? When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing
on each breath Of Northern winds, the thrilling sounds of
“ LIBERTY OR DEATH !"
What asks the Old Dominion ? If now her sons
have proved False to their fathers' memory — false to the faith
they loved, If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter
spurn, Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty
We hunt your bondmen, Aying from Slavery's hate
ful hellOur voices, at your bidding, take up the blood
hound's yellWe gather, at your summons, above our fathers'
graves, From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your
wretched slaves !
Thank God ! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts
The spirit of her early time is with her even now; Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow,
and calm, and cool, She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's
slave and tool !
All that a sister State should do, all that a free Heart, band, and purse we proffer, as in our early
day; But that one dark loathsome burden ye must
stagger with alone, And reap
the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown!
Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and
burden God's free air With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and man
hood's wild despair; Cling closer to the “ cleaving curse that writes
upon your plains The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of
Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of
old, By watching round the shambles where human
flesh is sold Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market
value, when The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the
slaver's den !
Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginian
name; Plant, if ye
with rankest weeds of shame; Be, if ye will, the scandal of God's fair universeWe wash our hands forever, of your sin, and
shame, and curse. A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's
shrine hath been, Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's
The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering
still In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill. And when the prowling man-thief came hunting
for his prey
Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of
gray, How, through the free lips of the son, the father's
warning spoke; How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim
A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on
high, A hundred thousand voices sent back their loud
reply; Through the thronged towns of Essex the startling
summons rang, And up from bench and loom and wheel her young
mechanics sprang! The voice of free, broad Middlesex-of thousands
as of oneThe shaft of Bunker calling to that of Lexing.
ton— From Norfolk's ancient villages; from Plymouth's
rocky bound To where Nantucket feels the arms of ocean close
her round; From rich and rural Worcester, where through the Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle
Nashua flows, To where Wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain
larches stir, Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of “God