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TO FANEUIL HALL
MEN !—if manhood still ye claim,
If the Northern pulse can thrill,
Freely, strongly still
Shut the mill-gate-leave the stallFling the axe and hammer by
Throng to Faneuil Hall ! Wrongs which
freemen never brookedDangers grim and fierce as they, Which, like couching lions, looked On your fathers
way; These your instant zeal demand, Shaking with
their earthquake-call Every rood of Pilgrim land
Ho, to Faneuil Hall !
From your capes and sandy bars
From your mountain-ridges cold, Through whose pines the westering stars
crowns of goldCome, and with your footsteps wake
Echoes from that holy wall: Once again, for Freedom's sake,
Rock your fathers' hall !
Up, and tread beneath
feet Every cord by party spun; Let your
hearts together beat As the heart of one. Banks and tariffs, stocks and trade,
Let them rise or let them fall :
Freedom asks your common aid
Up, to Faneuil Hall !
Up, and let each voice that speaks
Ring from thence to Southern plains, Sharply as the blow which breaks
Prison-bolts and chains !
Dreaded more than steel or ball,
Heard from Faneuil Hall !
Have they wronged us ? Let us then
Render back nor threats nor prayers; Have they chained our free-born men ?
LET US UNCHAIN THEIRS ! Up! your banner leads the van,
Blazoned “Liberty for all !” Finish what your sires began
Up, to Faneuil Hall !
What though around thee blazes
No fiery rallying sign? From all thy own high places,
Give heaven the light of thine ! What though unthrilled, unmoving,
The statesman stands apart, And comes no warm approving
From Mammon's crowded mart?
Still, let the land be shaken
By a summons of thine own!
By all save truth forsaken,
Why, stand with that alone! Shrink not from strife unequal!
With the best is always hope; And ever in the sequel
God holds the right side up! But when, with thine uniting,
Come voices long and loud, And far-off hills are writing
Thy fire-words on the cloud :
A deep response is heard,
Rolls back thy rallying word;
Shall thy line of battle falter,
With its allies just in view ?
My Father-land be true!
Speed them onward far and fast !
Like the Sibyl's on the blast!
Lo! the Empire State is shaking
The shackles from her hand;
The level sunset land !
East and West and North they come,
Is the beat of Freedom's drum.
“ To the tyrant's plot no favor!
No heed to place-fed knaves ! Bar and bolt the door forever
Against the land of Slaves !”
Hear it, mother Earth, and hear it,
The Heavens above us spread!
Was sleeping, but not dead !
LIFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's
rusted shield, Give to Northern winds the Pine-Tree on our ban
ner's tattered field, Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles
round the board, Answering England's royal missive with a firm,
6 THUS SAI'TH THE LORD!” Rise again for home and freedom !—set the battle
in array ! What the fathers did of old time we their sons must
do to-day. Tell us not of banks and tariffs—cease your paltry
peddler cries— Shall the good State sink her honor that your
gambling stocks may rise ? Would ye barter man for cotton ?—That your
gains may sum up higher, Must we kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children
through the fire ? Is the dollar only real ?—God and truth and right
a dream Weighed against your lying ledgers must our man.
hood kick the beam ?
Oh, my God !—for that free spirit, which of old in
Smote the Province House with terror, struck the
crest of Andros down ! For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's
streets to cry: Up for God and Massachusetts —Set your feet
on Mammon's lie! Perish banks and perish traffic-spin your cotton’s
latest poundBut in Heaven's name keep your honor-keep the
heart o' the Bay State sound!” Where's the man for Massachusetts ?- Where's the
voice to speak her free?Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her
mountains to the sea ? Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer ?—Sits she dumb
in her despair?Has she none to break the silence ?_Has she none
to do and dare? Oh my God! for one right worthy to lift up
her rusted shield, And to plant again the Pine-Tree in her banner's
tattered field !
SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO THE CITY OF WASHINGTON
IN THE 12TH MONTH OF 1845.
With a cold and wintry noon-light,
On its roofs and steeples shed,
From the gray sky overhead,