Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, Va. [W. Va.]) 1852-1859, 1858-09-07
WHEEL
THE INTELL..I L.IGENCER#3.

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The CHANT Of Tnp orrarssen.-5o6nl
Mitchell N in the last of his letters to the
hon. A. II. Stephens, which have been appear
ing in the columns of the Southern Citizens
has the following q
IN my earlier letters did not quote for -yon
any OF me stirring martial poems and ballads
whercWlth our friends Of ssYounp Ireland . +hor
IN the flush Of hope and pride, ltinded the snr.
Its and ambition of the people--but now T shall
give you sample of the famine poetrv Ave-.
man. with the high soul of q conoueror md tha
passionate tenderness of a maiden. stuno hv
shame, pity and horror, sings this terrible
chant:
Weary men, what reap ye?-Golden corn for the
stranger,
What sow ye?-Human corses that wait for +be
avenger.
Painting forms, hunger-stricken, what see in the
otfing !?
Stately ships to bear our food away amid the
There's proud array of soldie1s-what do thew
round your door?
They guard our masters granaries from the thin
hands of the poor
Pale mothers, wherefore weeping?-Would to
God that we were dead
Our children swoon before us, and we cannot
give them bread.
There's gaunt crowd on the highway-are ye
come to pray to man,
With hollow eyes that cannot weeD. and for
words your faces wan?
No; the blood is dead within Ourveins-we know
not what is life
Let US die hid in the ditches far from children
and from wife;
We cannot stay and listen to their raying fam
ished cries
Bread! Bread! Bread! and none to still their ago
nies!
We left our infants playing with their dead
We left our maidens mpddened by the fever's
scorching brand;
Better, maiden, thou vert strangled in thy own
dark twisted tresses-
Better, infant thou vert snothered in thy moth
ers first caresSes.
Accused are we in our own land; vet toll we
still, and toll;
But the stranger reaps our harvests--the alien
owns our soil.
Oh, Christ! how have we sinned, that on our ma
tive plains
Weperish, hOuseless, naked, starved with bran
ded brow like Gains?
Dying, dying wearily, with torture sure and
Dying, as dog would die, by the way side as
we go.
One by one they're falling round US, their pale
faces to the sky;
We've no strength left to dig them graves
there let them lie,
The wild bird, if he's stricken, is mourned by the
others;
But we've die in Christian land-we die amid
our brothers,
In the land which God has given, like wild
beast in his cave
Withouta tear, prayer, shroud, coffin, or a
grave,
Ha! but think ye the contortion on each lived
face ye see
Will not be read on judgment day by eyes of
Deity?
We are wretchcs, faynished scorned, human
tools to build your pride,
But God will yet take vengeance for the souls
for whom Christ died.
Now is your hour of pleasure--bask ye in the
worlds caress. .
But our whitening bones against ye will arise as
witnesses, 3.Efsf
From the cabins and the bitches, in their charr'd
uncoffin'd masses.
For the Angel of the Trumpet will know them.
ghastly spectcr army before great God we'll
stand, a.5sl ~
And orraign ye. as our murderers, the spoilers
o. -4.a,.e-- our .a"l'.
AARON BUnR.-Randall, in his life of Jefferson,
thus describes Burr
Burr possessed lnuCn cunning ana Elucn
penetration Of particular kind; but, like most
wholly unprincipled men, he overrated the pow
er of evil. He believed every man and woman
mad their easy price. He therefore relied on
personal appliances and petty intrigue and
tines>ing, to obtain objects wholly beyond the
reach OF such means. He baited mousetraps
expecting to catch elephants intheme His life
long history an disqualification of this trait Of
mild, and it lisa lifelong roll5of failures. in
every great crisis ofhis5career We find him With
intense cunning in his look, and mystery in his
rapid movements, setting his little traps. But
he was always just wise. enough to. be m moptgener-
aled when he came in contact with wise man;
he was always just artful enough to, beat him.
self. Without any attempts to be Ginning, and
by mere force of his abilities, and a straightfor
ward life he might have been far-more SUCCESS
full. He loved intrigue for its own sake. There
was a fascination in 1t which blindedhis judg-
ment. He5was ready to embark in it, and was
sanguine of success, where man of less astute-
ness, but without his taste for plotting, would
have foreseen the certainty of defeat. 1t takes
another trait to complete the character of rash
and ready conspirator. He was proverbially
insensible to danger. He was willing to risk
his life to carry out the most paltry amour: He
Elts,,