Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1850-08-08
Song to the Convicts of the Ohio
Penitentiary.

We come, we come, with song to greet you,
To soothe the anguish of the heart,
To calm the waves of woe that meet you,
And bid their dreary hues depart
Tho clad in robes of shame and sorrow,
And doomed a convict's fate to bear,
You may greet bright tomorrow,
Your mis'ries all dispersed in air.
If Hopes bright ray grows faint before you,
And grim Despair assumes its throne,
Still lets memory hover DER you,
The future may be all thine own.
Think of those who once loved kindly,
All the friends once dear to thee,
The mother who caressed you bindly,
Refusing all your faults to see.
Think of early youths affections,
Chidhoud's pure and happy years,
Ere crime had cast its dark reflections,
Drowning bliss in bitter tears;
Yet think not hope is dimmd forever
And lost its soul-inspring ray,
But say that vice ngain shall never
Steal the source of bliss away.
Then soothe with hope thy bitter anguish,
View the future calm and bright;
No more let Virtues taper languish,
But live within its peaceful light;
The clouds that now are hov'rlng round you,
May melt like morning dews away,
And Joyous hopes that once have buoyed you,
Assert again their potent sway.
Then dry the tears that now are streaming
Adown the cheek that's worn with woe,
The gentle eye of Hope is beaming
And bids thy tears forget to flow.
Oh! let our song of hope and gladness,
Turn your steps in honor's way,
We come, to quell your notes of sadness
And point 10 Virtues holy way.
OH tread Her 1owery paths of meekness,
Put all your trust in Him above,
For He will teach you in your weakness
And guide you to His home of love.
Our hearts will mourn the ills that press you,
Our sympathy no words can tell;
We pray that Heaven will kindly bless you
And wash your sins away-Farewell!
Many of the unhappy convicfs expressed
gratitude and appreciation of the unaffect ted
kindness of the BAKER FAMILY, by asking per-
mission of their keepers to present the welcome
onl sympathizng songsters' with little remem
brlnces which they had taxed their ingenuity
to invent in tedious and unemployed hours oi
confinement. One poor mana Poet by nature
and education, and the beauty and sentiment Of
whose lines constrans us to believe that nothing
but the most pressing want and urgent apparent
necessity could have induced to deeds worthy of
his present fate,--penned the following impromp-
tn poem, addressed to
The Baker Family
sod of the silver bow that once was mine.
Again bend at your enchanting shrine,
The god of Song has walked his magic strain
10 rouse my anguish'd heart to hope again.
Sweet music soaring on starry wing
Your soul inspiring spell around me fling,
And teach my wOeful heart no more to deem
Peace all phantom, happiness dream.
And let me not forget the tender note
That ever round my memory should float
Which l6tely fell from unknown harps to cheer
The sadden'd spirits that are withnng here.
Oh! sweet upon my listening ear did fall
MelodiOus music in our dining hall.
"THE BAKER FAMILY" to whom belong
The sheen Of beauty, and the voice Of song,
Came DER our hearts, in sympathy to pour
A balm to soothe in dark affictions hour;
And wake memory each breast within
Of childhood's early days, unstalned by sin,
That songs rekindIed in each heaving breast,
Memory of youthful innocence, that blest
And happy period, that dreamy life
Ere hearts have learned to taste of woe and strife.
To me it pictured nfancy's bright dream
Of future happiness on llfe's dark stream,
The azure mountains where my parents trod,
The church where was taught to worship God,
And pour my infant heart to Him in prayer
Who spreads His boundess mercies everywhere
The fragrant meadow, and the purling rill,
Whose busy waters moved the noisy mill,
The fairy forms of future bliss that prest
In glowing images around my breast,
Have faded like the phantom of dream;
Oh Fancy, wilt thou with thy power redeem
The sanguine hopes, the thrilling tho't sublime
That swelled around us, in our early prime.
Such blissful visions that an Angel pour'd
O'er souls that bright imagination stored,
Alas have vanished, and we only know
The tear of anguish, and the groan of woe
Oh could again my mothers accents mild
Assuage the sorrows of her long lost child,
And could my ears drink in her words of love,
That ever strove to point my soul Above,
Urging my course to those celestial sphers,
Where sorrows never come nor grief, nor tears
Then would my fanting heart forget to know,
All it has felt, Of dreariness and woe.
GEORGE BAILLIE,
n" My Home in the Greenwood"
Do not these touching lines show US how