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Gone, gone-sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go,
Faint with toil, and rack'd with pain,
To their cheerless homes again-
There no brother's voice shall greet them-
There no father's welcome meet them.

Gone, gone-sold and gone,
To the rice.swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters, -
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

We have been friends together,

In sunshine and in shade, Since first beneath the chesnut trees

In infancy, we played ;-
But coldness dwells within thy heart,

A cloud is on thy brow:
We have been friends together,

Shall a light word part us now?

Gone, gone-sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play-
From the cool spring where they drank--
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank-
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there-

Gone, gone-sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,-
Woe is me, my stolen daughters !

We have been gay together;

We have laughed at little jests When the fount of love was gushing

Warm and joyous in our breasts ;But laughter now hath fled thy lips,

And sullen glooms thy brow: We have been gay together

Shall a light word part us now? We have been sad together;

We have wept with bitter tears
O’er the grass grown graves, where slumbered

The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there

Would bid thee clear thy brow,-
We have been sad together-

Oh, what shall part us now?

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

upon the sick.

THE FEMALE MARTYR.

And, where the sickly taper shed

Its light through vapors, damp, confined,

Hush'd as a seraph's fell thy treadMary G-, aged 18, a “Sister of Charity," died A new Electra by the bed in one of our Atlantic cities, during the prevalence

Of suffering human-kind ! of the Indian Cholera, while in voluntary attendance Pointing the spirit, in its dark dismay,

To that pure hope which fadeth not away. « Bring out your dead!” the midnight street Heard and gave back the hoarse, low call;

Innocent teacher of the high Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet

And holy mysteries of Heaven ! Glanced through the dark the coarse white sheet- How turn’d to thee each glazing eye, Her coffin and her pall.

In mute and awful sympathy, • What-only one !” The brutal hackman said,

As thy low prayers were given; As, with an oath, he spurn'd away the dead.

And the o'er-hovering Spoiler wore, the while,

An angel's features-a deliverer's smile !
How sunk the inmost hearts of all,
As rollid that dead-cart slowly by,

A blessed task !--and worthy one
With creaking wheel and harsh hoof-fall!

Who, turning from the world, as thou, The dying turn'd him to the wall,

Ere being's pathway had begun To hear it and to die!

To leave its spring-time flower and sun,
Onward it rollid; while oft its driver stay'd,

Had seal’d her early vow-
And hoarsely clamor'd, « Ho!— bring out your dead.” | Giving to God her beauty and her youth,

Her
pure

affections and her guileless truth.
It paused beside the burial-place;
• Toss in your load!”—and it was done.-

Earth may not claim thee. Nothing here With quick hand and averted face,

Could be for thee a meet reward; Hastily to the grave's embrace

Thine is a treasure far more dear They cast them, one by one

Eye hath not seen it, nor the ear Stranger and friend—the evil and the just,

Of living mortal heard, Together trodden in the church-yard dust!

The joys prepared—the promised bliss above And thou, young martyr !—thou wast there

The holy presence of Eternal Love!
No white-robed sisters round thee trod-
Nor holy hymn, nor funeral prayer

Sleep on in peace. The earth has not

A nobler name than thine shall be.
Rose through the damp and noisome air,

The deeds by martial manhood wrought,
Giving thee to thy God;
Nor flower, nor cross, nor hallow'd taper gave

The lofty energies of thought,

The fire of poesyGrace to the dead, and beauty to the grave!

These have but frail and fading honors ;-thine Yet, gentle sufferer!-there shall be,

Shall Time unto Eternity consign.
In every heart of kindly feeling,
A rite as holy paid to thee

Yea-and, when thrones shall crumble down,
As if beneath the convent-tree

And human pride and grandeur fall, Thy sisterhood were kneeling,

The herald's line of long renownAt vesper hours, like sorrowing angels, keeping

The mitre and the kingly crownTheir tearful watch around thy place of sleeping.

Perishing glories all!

The pure devotion of thy generous heart
For thou wast one in whom the light

Shall live in Heaven, of which it was a part !
Of Heaven's own love was kindled well,
Enduring with a martyr's might,
Through weary day and wakeful night,

Far more than words may tell :
Gentle, and nieek, and lowly, and unknown-
Thy mercies measured by thy God alone!

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial. Where manly hearts were failing, - where

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives The throngful street grew soul with death,

Who thinks most-feels the noblest-acts the best; O high soul'd martyr !—thou wast there,

And he whose heart beats quickest, lives the longest; Inhaling from the loathsome air,

Lives in one hour more than in years do some, Poison with every breath.

Whose blood sleeps as it slips along their veins. Yet shrinking not from offices of dread For the wrung dying, and unconscious dead.

P. J. BAILEY.

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POEMS ON SOME INCIDENTS OF ANTI-SLAVERY. | TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS,

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Was it right,

Late President of Western Reserve College.
While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled,
That I should dream away the entrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart,
With feelings all too delicate for use?

COLERIDGE.

* He fell a martyr to the interests of his colored brethren.

For many months did that mighty man of God apply his disThe general history of any one radical reform is criminating and gigantic mind to the subject of Slavery and the history of all. There is, at first, the deep con- its remedy: and, when his soul could no longer contain his viction of right, and devotedness to the truth what

holy indignation against the upholders and apologists of this ever betide, opposed by the scorn,loathing, and hatred

unrighteous system, be gave veut to his aching heart, and of the mass. Then comes open violence beating down, if possible, the firm endurance of men who poured forth his clear thoughts and holy feelings in such deep have foreseen the peril and do not fear to brave it. and soul-entrancing eloquence, that other men, whom he Then is heard above the clamor the voices of some

would fain in his humble modesty acknowledge his superiors, few whom the world calls noble, who yet by the sat at bis feet and looked up as children to a parent.”-Cor. world's love are not altogether corrupt. And then respondent of the ' Liberator,' 16th of 11th mo. 1833. peal upon peal arise the shouts of victory after vic. Thou hast fallen in thine armor, tory by those who, once dispised, are now going on

Thou martyr of the Lord ! conquering and to conquer. Then high names are

With thy last breath crying – Onward !" given to martyrs; and men believing them to be

And thy hand upon the sword. God-sent, and therefore inimitable, sit down with

The haughty heart derideth, solded arms while the roar, it may be, of a yet And the sinful lip reviles, mightier combat is raging around them.

But the blessing of the perishing
Such was the case when Socrates drank the hem.

Around thy pillow smiles !
lock; when Jesus was the Word-made-flesh, and was
nailed to the cross; when Luther rocked Catholic- When to our cup of trembling
dom with its array of soulless mummeries and count. The added drop is given,
less heresies, to its foundation; when George Fox

And the long suspended thunder shook priestdom in England sorely; and when Sharpe Falls terribly from Heaven,and Wilberforce and Clarkson pleaded for the rights When a new and fearful freedom against the powers of men, and gave to the world a

Is proffer'd of the Lord most noble proof of Truth's might. And such too, is

To the slow consuming Faminenow the case when Anti-Slavery—that only demo. The Pestilence and Sword !cracy which our nation has-defying the triple alli. ance of Love of Power with Love of Gold and

When the refuges of Falsehood Hatred of Man, has kept to the breeze its banner

Shall be swept away in wrath, these more than twenty years, bearing it up and

And the temple shall be shaken down through church aisles and legislative halls,

With its idol to the earth, flapping it in the faces of drowsy wealth and rank,

Shall not thy words of warning and, from beneath it, pouring out defiance and re

Be all remember'd then ? solve upon the startled ear of oppression.

And thy now unbeeded message
In that warfare have been many incidents right

Barn in the hearts of men ?
worthy of the poet's song. And well have some of
them been used. I have bastily thrown together

Oppression's hand may scatter such poems upon them as are at hand, with this

Its nettles on thy tomb, eulogium-that never in any struggle did more Man.

And even Christian bosoms ly and Christian poetry gush up from the deep foun.

Deny thy memory room ; tains of the soul.

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Lo-the waking up of nations,

From Slavery's fatal sleepThe murmur of a Universe

Deep calling unto Deep! Joy to thy spirit, brother!

On every wind of Heaven The onward cheer and summons

Of FEEEDOM's soul is given !

Glory to God for ever!

Beyond the despot's will The soul of Freedom liveth

Imperishable still. The words which thou hast utter'd

Are of that soul a part And the good seed thou hast scatter'd

Is springing from the heart.

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 whisper'd 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 !

In the evil days before us,

And the trials yet to comeIn the shadow of the prison,

Or the cruel martyrdomWe will think of thee, O brother !

And thy sainted name shall be In the blessing of the captive,

And the anthem of the free.

CLERICAL OPPRESSORS.

TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS SHIPLEY.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, who died on the 17th of the 9th month, 1836, a devoted Christian and Philanthropist.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest!

The flowers of Eden round thee blowing, And on thine ear the murmurs blest

Of Shiloah's waters softly flowing !
Beneath that Tree of Life which gives
To all the earth its healing leaves !
In the white robe of angels clad !

And wandering by that sacred river,
Whose streams of holiness make glad

The city of our God for ever!

Gentlest of spirits !--not for thee

Our tears are shed-our sighs are given : Why mourn to know thou art a free

Partaker of the joys of Heaven?
Finish'd thy work, and kept thy faith
In Christian firmness urto death;
And beautiful as sky and earth,

When Autumn's sun is downward going, The blessed memory of thy worth

Around thy place of slumber glowing !

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 impres. sive character 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 pour ?
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
The homeless and the outcast,---fettering down

The task'd and plunder'd 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 tassel'd 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 stretch'd 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 th' 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.

But woe for us! who linger still

With feebler strength and hearts less lowly, And minds less steadfast to the will

Of Him whose every work is holy.
For not like thine, is crucified
The spirit of our human pride;
And at the bondman's tale of woe,

And for the outcast and forsaken,
Not warm like thine, but cold and slow,

Our weaker sympathies awaken.

Darkly upon our struggling way

The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey,

Our watch amidst the darkness keeping ! Oh! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man! Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true,

And constant in the hour of trial, Prepared to suffer, or to do,

In meekness and in self-denial.

Oh! for that spirit, meek and mild,

Derided, spurned, yet uncomplainingBy man deserted and reviled,

Yet faithful to its trust remaining. Still prompt and resolute to save From scourge and chain the hunted slave! Unwavering in the Truth's defence,

Even where the fires of Hate are burning, Th’ unquailing eye of innocence

Alone upon th' oppressor turning!

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