The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1839-05-11

For the recreant West hath kneeled
At the footstool of the South,
And the voice of her own free son is sealed,
And the seal is on her mouth
Let her name be blazoned high
On the land and by the sea-
In the cold -Engand's stormy sky,
Where the heart and lip free!
Where her mountain-torrent roars,
Her wide, deep forests through
Along by her gray and surf-ashed shores
Der her lakes so cold and blue!
In Pennsylvania's heart,
Where the heart shall never Yield
Where her solemn streams from her mountains star
On Braddock's bloody field!
Where the starved and way-worn slave
Is shot in his mountain-lair,
And his mangled corse finds rocky grave
Where he breathed his first free air.
Where his blood is in the wild,
Though his screams have died away.
While look in vain his wife and child,
For his steps by night and day.
In the praries wild and green,
Be her name in every mouth,
Be it heard on every side, ay, cen
In the South-in the guilty South!
What hast thou done, that they
Should frown upon thee now .
What is the crime they thus repay
With dark and clouded brow
While round our banners wave,
And the glorious boon is won,
Thou hast listed the cry of the dying slave,
As she groaneth in the sun!
Thou hadst eyes and couds not be blind
To her hot and bitter tears,
Nor deaf to her shrieks that load the wind,
Nor cold to mothers fears-
Thy heart could not be dumb
To the wall of the down-trod poor,
Though the stern rebuke should harshly come
From the sons of the high and pure.
Thou art one of the few who are better
Than those they represent,
Who rise to burst the bondman's fetter
Ere the day for breaking is SPENT
Who cherish those golden words
That are from oblivion won,-
Undying gems that flashed from the lips
Of the glorious Jefferson!
There are some ,Dhose nerpes are strong,
Who can see the slave all CORY,
And Scared with the mark of the drivers thong,
And shout, Oh glory gloryn'-
Who can gaze the bowed with years,
AS he perisheth in the sun,
And coldIy look on the orphans tears,
As she prayeth her life were done,-
On her deadly agony.
That is seen in the dim midnight
On her lips that utter their dying cry
In their CHASTITY, ghostly white!
Thou art not one of thosc,-
To thy glory be it said:
Thou canst not now thy free lips close
For the captive bends his head,
But thOu* who canst not feel
For the slave, though SLAVE thou be,
The naughty South hath stamped her seal
Of a crouching slave on thee!
Bend lou BE mild and meek
Thy burning shame quick smother,--
filthy master smite thee one cheek,
Turn calmly thou the other!
But thou the wise and good,
We will pray together for thee;
Thou hast done as thy country's freemen should
While battling for her free
Thou hast warmest love,
Thou hast our freshest tears,
And shalt have that love till our hearts grow cold
To our latest, latest years
Farewell! farewell Unknown
Though the minstrel is to thee,
He hath wpoed his Tyre to an humble tone,
For the champion of the free!
And its dying cadence means,
"May sorrow find thee never,
And love and truth, with their kindred tones
Be with thee now and forever!"
SHELLEY.
ldge Tappan, who, it is said, was formerly an aboli.
;, but who has lately discovered and renowned his
-
From the Vermont Mercury.
The Value of Time.
here is no remedy for time msspent,
No healing for the waste of idleness,
whose very languor is punishment