^miE iFwo-ir^ii^riig. 
 
 Pai/e 63. 
 
/ 
 
 STAR 
 
 'I 
 
 EMANCIPATION 
 
 •' 111 all liiings that have l)eaulj, thero is nothing to man more 
 'omeiy than Liberty." — Milton. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 FOR THE FAIR OF THE MASSACHUSETTS FEftlALK 
 EMA^X1PATI0^• SOCIF.Tr. 
 
 1 84 1 . 
 
)y74 
 
 JOHN PUTNAM, PRINTER, CORNHILL. 
 
 1898 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Our " Star of Emancipation " appears before 
 the public with no great pretensions. We do not 
 intend to vie with Virgil or Shakspeare in point 
 of plot or tragedy, but we are assured that the 
 sentiments we utter in the item of Practice, 
 (which, by the way, in these days of Theory, is 
 one of no small importance,) contain far more of 
 truth and value, and of that which Longfellow 
 tells us Life is, — Reality, than much of the wri- 
 tings of either of the above personages. 
 
 With what degree of brilliancy our Star shines 
 forth, is left for the reader to decide. That Star 
 which has guided, and we hope will still guide 
 many a refugee to Victoria's dominions, is not 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 • •nc of the first magnitude. In its posiliou and 
 stdhilihj consists its merit. 
 
 il" our " Star" shine from the j-ight point in the 
 iiiMial heavens, and with a certain lijjrht, thoutrh 
 it be not one of tiie first magnitude, it serves 
 the end at whicli we aim, — the deliverance of* the 
 hound. With this single object in view, we com- 
 mend its pages to the friends of humanity. 
 
 In behalf of the Massachusetts Female Eman- 
 cipation Society, 
 
 THE COMPILER^. 
 
ALL SPEAK OF THP^K. 
 
 Inscribed on every tree 
 
 With branches waving free, 
 
 On clifts far reaching, lone, 
 
 On every little stone, 
 
 On Ocean's vasty deep, 
 
 Where low the mermaids sleep, - 
 
 On monsters huge and dread, 
 
 Who make the sea their bed, — 
 
 On little fish that blink 
 
 Along the river's brink ; — 
 
 On every little rill. 
 
 Whose kiss revives the hill, 
 
 Where springs the gentle flower. 
 
 That blossoms for an hour ; — 
 
 On every living thing. 
 
 With fin or spangled wing, — 
 
 On every bird that flies 
 
 With one, or thousand dyes, 
 
 From her who sits bald, throned. 
 
 With blood red beak alone. 
 
 To the sweet nightingale 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In grove or love-lit vale, — 
 
 On every odorous breeze 
 
 Lingering among the trees, — 
 
 On every little fly, 
 
 That flits before the eye ; — 
 
 On every sparkling star 
 
 That speaks to us from far, 
 
 E'en from the distant gleam 
 
 Of Mercury's moony beam. 
 
 Whose car all brilliant flies 
 
 On errands through the skies ; — * 
 
 On every secret thought 
 
 By Inspiration wrought, 
 
 Yea, on God's spotless throne, 
 
 Dazzling with light its own. 
 
 Heaven and all earth can see 
 
 Inscribed, — Liberty ! 
 
 FELICIA. 
 
 Boston, Sept. 1841. 
 
 * The rapidity with which Mercury flies is so great (more 
 than 100,000 miles an hour) that the Grecian Astronomers 
 considered it the messenger of the gods, and hence the)* 
 represented it with wings at its head and feet, from which is 
 derived the character used to represent it. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 All Speak of Thee, 6 
 
 The Western Stars, 9 
 
 Where is the Captive's Home ? 13 
 
 The Stranger, jg 
 
 "Open thy Mouth for the Dumb," 19 
 
 Oppression, 21 
 
 An Appeal to America on Behalf of the Slave, . . 23 
 
 Persevere, 25 
 
 Song of the Ransomed Captive, 26 
 
 Sycophancy, 28 
 
 Liberty, 29 
 
 The Fugitives, 37 
 
 The Refugee Mother in Canada, 69 
 
 Mary S. Parker, 74 
 
 Stanzas, Suggested by the Death of Mary S. Parker, 77 
 
 Letter from Thomas Clarkson, 80 
 
 The Fugitive's Welcome, 83 
 
 Mind is Free, 85 
 
 Compassion, ....,., 86 
 
VI 1 1 CO N T E N T S . 
 
 The Slave Auction, 87 
 
 Lines to Thomas ClarUson, Esq., ,92 
 
 Lines, Addressed to the American Delegates, ... 93 
 
 Slavery, 94 
 
 The Liberty Banner, 97 
 
 To Joseph Stnrge, Esq., 100 
 
 The Ballot Box, , .... 102 
 
 The Freed Captive, 104 
 
 Stanzas, to the Women of Great Britain, . . . .106 
 
STAR OF EMANCIPATION. 
 
 THE WESTERN STARS. 
 
 15 Y G . B . H L M E S , 
 
 " L' esprit des temps rejoint ce que la mer sipare, 
 *' Le titre de famille est ecrit en tout lieu. 
 ''L'homme n 'est plus francais, anglais, romain, barbare, 
 " II est concitoyen de 1 'empire de Dieu ! 
 '* Les neurs des nations s' ecroulent en poussieres, 
 " Les langues de Babel retrouvent 1 ' unite, 
 " L ' Epangile refait avec toutes ces pierres 
 " Le temple de 1 ' humanite ! " 
 
 A. DE Lamartine. 
 
 The stars — the stars — the glorious stars ! 
 There's not a cloud their beauty mars, 
 As, onward, beaming love and light. 
 They wander through the *' stilly night." 
 But what are ye, embanner'd there, 
 In constellation bright and fair ? 
 
10 TIIC WESTERN STARS. 
 
 \oung Freedonrs stars ! alas ! ye wave 
 In mockery o'er yon fetler'd slave ! 
 For this did countless millions j)Oiir 
 From free Britannia's distant shore ? 
 Did this her injured sons beguile 
 From green li-rne's sorrowing isle ? 
 It could not and it must not be, 
 The world proclaims that Afric's free. 
 
 .Sons of the West ! on bended knee, 
 
 Their rights, as men, your captives crave, 
 And must the astonish'd nations see 
 
 That Freedom's home is Freedom's grave ? 
 Sons of the West ! I see again 
 
 O'er broken chains your banner move, 
 Meet emblem of yon glittering train, 
 
 That sparkles with eternal love ! 
 
 Are they not men, the sv/arthy hosts 
 That teem on Afric's burning coasts ? 
 And they, where sunbeams dimly glow, 
 The stunted, fur-clad Esquimaux ? 
 Are they not men, that noble race 
 Your thirst for gold would fain efface ? 
 Oh, let them in their woods he free, 
 The Seminole — the Cherokee ! 
 
THE WESTERN STARS. i { 
 
 Say, where are they, when first he came, 
 Who joy'd in ''Father Ona's" name; — 
 Who cahM iheu' own '' Great Spirit," Sire ? 
 Ye drown'd them in your "liquid fire"! 
 And Niagara's deaPning spray 
 Demands in thunder — where are they ? 
 
 Sons of the West ! we all must die ; 
 
 We all must meet before the throne 
 Of Him, whose everlasting eye 
 
 Can pierce the human heart alone. 
 He saw your ill-starred vessel roam 
 
 O'er ocean with yon trembling slave ; 
 He saw you, when ye made the home 
 
 The red man gave your sires, his grave ! 
 
 That other world — tremendous thought ! 
 It comes to all, howe'er unsought ; 
 And there the slave and tyrant meet, 
 As equals, at the judgment seat. 
 Yes, they shall rise before you then. 
 That countless host of murderM men. 
 And ill your cow*ering glance shall brook 
 On their accusing eyes to look. 
 Repent, repent and stretch the hand 
 Of Freedom o'er yon western land. 
 
12 THE WESTERN STARS. 
 
 Go, bid the woos of A Trie cease. 
 Go, let the red man dwell in peace. 
 Then, wash ye in the healing flood 
 Of Jesus' all-atoning blood. 
 
 vSons of the West ! I see again 
 
 O'er broken chains your banner move. 
 
 Meet emblem of yon glittering train 
 That sparkles with eternal love ! 
 
 It comes — it comes — that holy hour f 
 Let earth's enfranchised sons rejoice. 
 
 Triumphant in their infant power ; 
 Let universal Freedom's voice 
 
 Proclaim that not a shadow mars 
 
 The glory of yon Western vStars ! 
 
 Horsham, fEng.J Will mo. 23d, 1840. 
 
WHERE IS THE CAPTIVE'S HOME ) ,] 
 
 WHERE IS THE CAPTIVE'S HOME ? 
 
 BY C . L . NORTH, 
 
 A noble dome, alone It stood, 
 
 The home of wealth and pride — 
 The price of trade in human blood, 
 
 Of wo and misery wide. 
 The brilliant light now streaming far 
 
 Eclipsed the starry ray, 
 x\nd Fashion's throng were gathered there — 
 
 The lovely and the gay. 
 
 Soft music rose upon the air 
 
 A sweetly plaintive tone, 
 All hung upon the voice and lyre, — 
 
 Their sound was heard alone. 
 Beneath the same blue sky that smiled 
 
 Upon that thoughtless train, 
 There wandered forth Oppression's child 
 
 And caught the melting strain. 
 
 She had not learned to feel by art 
 
 And weep at music's swell, 
 But Nature gave a feeling heart 
 
 And she obeyed the spell. 
 
14 U'lir.Ri: IS TIIK CAPTIVr/S home^ 
 
 The plaintive sons; tliat inct her ear 
 
 Could touch a chord within, 
 And ' home, sweet home ' called forth a tear 
 
 It fell by all unseen. 
 
 ' Where is my home '7 ' the captive sighed, 
 
 ' Where is that spot so dear ? 
 'Tis not in all tliis land abroad 
 
 My home, — it is not here. 
 I know this land is passins; fair, 
 
 But 'tis not dear to me ; 
 While slavery's galling chain I wear, 
 
 My home it cannot be. 
 
 There is a land, a far-off land 
 
 Where once my fathers dwelt, 
 I've learned to love it — Afric's strand, 
 
 A child's devotion felt. 
 I hail the sun, the king of day, 
 
 I watch the stars of heaven, 
 [ love the moon's pale silver ray 
 
 At quiet hour of even ; 
 
 T love the clouds, the sky of blue, 
 
 And ocean's ceaseless tide, 
 What e'er belongs to Afric too 
 
 Is to my heart allied. 
 
WHERE IS THE CAPTIVE'S IIOIME ? j 
 
 And yet I would not seek that shore, 
 
 Or if I there could roam 
 There's none to make me welcome there, 
 
 'T is not, 't is not my home. 
 
 " I have no home," the captive sighed 
 
 And sought her cabin door, 
 ' No home,' the murmuring breeze replied. 
 
 An exile evermore. 
 There is on earth not one dear spot 
 
 Oppression's child may love ; 
 O, who shall raise her drooping thought 
 
 To find a home above ! 
 
 Lowell, Oct. 1841, 
 
IG THE STRANGER 
 
 THE STRANGER. 
 
 BY L A U K I L L A A I. E R Y L A , 
 
 Stranger is a holy name: 
 
 Guidance, and rest, and food, and fire, 
 In vain he never must require. 
 
 Walter Scott 
 
 The name of "stranger" is indeed "a boh 
 name." All ages have respected it. All na- 
 tions honored it. The Barbarian dare not re- 
 ject the "stranger." He will receive him to 
 his hearth, and though he be an enemy, he will 
 protect him as a household god. The savage in 
 liis little hut receives the stranger, even though 
 he be the white man that has robbed him of his 
 lands and is destroying his nation. He kindles 
 for him his fire, he gives him food, and spreads 
 for him his softest furs. " Fly far " said the 
 Moor, as he led his horse to a fugitive whom he 
 had sheltered; "fly far while the night can cover 
 you. Your pursuers are in my house, you are 
 the murderer of my son, but you have asked of 
 me protection, and I dare not betray you." "I 
 
THE STRANGER. 17 
 
 was a stranger and ye took me not in," is one of 
 the dreadful condemnations to be heard from the 
 throne at the day of judgment. 
 
 Is there in this wide world so lone a "stran- 
 ger," so destitute a being, as the escaping slave ? 
 The world is new to him — he looks around — 
 trembling he looks, and sees in ev^ery tree his 
 master's form, and hears in every breeze the 
 driver's lash. The tiger has his den, the bear 
 his hollow tree, but where can this poor "stran- 
 ger" lay his head ? To the North star he turns 
 as to his God, and thither bends his feeble steps. 
 Fainting with hunger, and benumbed with cold, 
 he begs for food and shelter. Who will refuse 
 to aid the pleading slave ^ Who will turn him 
 from his door ? A Northern laborer ! Warm 
 in his pleasant cottage, reared with his well paid 
 wages, a Northern laborer will drive the perish- 
 ing bondman back into the howling wilderness ! 
 But who is there that will betray him ? His 
 manly limbs are galled with slavery's chain, his 
 noble form is bent with slavery's yoke, his bleed- 
 ing feet deformed with slavery's fetters ! Who is 
 the wretch that dare betray him ? A JsTorthern 
 yeoman ! Free as the mountain breeze himself. 
 
18 THE STRANGER. 
 
 rejoicing in his liberty, protected in his rights ; 
 a Northern yeoman will betray the wretched 
 slave ! Is there a nation where the free winds 
 blow, and where the rain of heaven descends, — 
 a nation where the bright sun shines, and where 
 the beauteous earth spreads fordi her fruits, that 
 dai'e refuse protection to this "stranger?" There 
 is such a nation — and that nation is America ! 
 The beacon light of liberty is blazing on her 
 mountains, the joyful shouts of freedom rising 
 from her vallies, but she will seize the escaping 
 bondman, chain him again and send him back to 
 slavery ! Oh what an act is this, to take the 
 helpless " stranger" and give him up a bound and 
 trembling victim, into the hands of his enraged 
 and lawless master ! ! It is a deed of horror ! 
 Such are thy trophies, slavery ! and such the 
 offerings thy votaries must lay upon thine altar ! 
 Thy morning and thy evening sacrifice is human 
 blood! Thy victim is the guiltless "stranger!" 
 
 Glastenbury, Conn., 1841. 
 
OPEN THY MOUTH FOR THE DUMB. ly 
 
 ''OPEN THY MOUTH FOR THE 
 DUMB." 
 
 Written under an Autograph of Capt. Charles Stuart. 
 BY SARAH DYMOND. 
 
 Brother, I will ! — that charge shall be 
 
 A sacred Tahsman to me ; 
 
 Nor doubt shall check, nor coldness steel 
 
 My heart against that warm appeal, 
 
 But in and out of season still 
 
 The outraged slave my lips shall fill, 
 
 With argument to rouse the bold 
 
 To active zeal, to warm the cold, 
 
 The apologist of crime to shame, 
 
 By mention of thy stainless name. 
 
 That name which o'er the Western wave 
 
 Speaks hope and comfort to the slave. 
 
 Yes, Stuart, yes, thy name shall be 
 A sacred Talisman to me ; 
 Whether amid Canadian snows, 
 Thy care shall soothe the Negro's woes, 
 When faint and worn, the Refugee 
 • To thy protecting care shall flee. 
 
20 OPEN TliV MOUTH FUR THE DUMB. 
 
 And find bcneaih Victoria's sway, 
 Safety by iiiglit and jieace l)y day : 
 Or, when amid the recreant band 
 Of freedom's sons, tliy foot shall slaiid 
 On bright jlissouri's rolling tide, 
 Or by sweet Susquehanna's side, 
 Thy lips of love shall intercede 
 For him who cannot, must not plead. 
 
 Friend of the slave! thy charge shall be 
 
 A sacred Talisman to me, 
 
 My mouth shall "open for the dumb" 
 
 Till Freedom's glorious moi-n shall come ; 
 
 My daily orison shall be, 
 
 Lord, let the slave at length be free ! 
 
 Nor till in death these lips shall close. 
 
 Will I forget the Negro's woes. 
 
 But breathe like Fox, life's latest prayer, 
 
 " Spare Africa, the negro spare ! " 
 
 Taunton, (Eng.) Jan. '2oth, 1841. 
 
OPPRESSION. 21 
 
 OPPRESSION. 
 
 Suggested by seeing a colored Minister of the Gospel insult- 
 ed in a stage coach. 
 
 BY A . B . 
 
 God of the comfortless ! O, cast around 
 These stricken ones, the arm invisible 
 Of thy protective care, nor let the scorn, 
 The cold contempt, the bitter, burning hate 
 Which day by day is heaped upon them, 
 Tarnish their souls, or cause them to pervert 
 The ways of righteousness. O holy One, 
 Are not their souls thine own ? are they not bound 
 To thee by ties indissolubly strong ? 
 Thou God of woman born, whose very visage 
 Was more marred through earthly hate than all 
 
 the sons 
 Of men, are not these parts of thine own self? 
 Are not thy heart-strings twined around their souls^ 
 And enters not the sword into thy soul, 
 Whene'er disdainful man spurns at thine image 
 And would trample in the dust thy priceless 
 Jewels ? Omnipotent Jehovah, say, 
 2 
 
22 OPPRESSION. 
 
 Are lliey nni thine offspring ? Dwell not tlieii 
 
 guai'dian 
 Angels, ever in thy presence, and speed 
 They not as gladsomely on their bright wings, 
 To bear balm to the breast of those on whom 
 Afric hath poured its noon-tide rays, as those 
 Who 're fanned by gales swept from New Eng- 
 land's forests ? 
 Dwells not the good Spirit as lovingly 
 Within the bosom of the swarthy race ? 
 AVhispers he not as sweet his heavenly 
 Consolations to the Ethiop's heart, 
 With joy unspeakable his ravished bosom 
 Filling ? 'T is even so ; — and when heaven's 
 Vast battalion shall stand in glorious 
 Triumph all revealed, none will more beauteous 
 Shine, than those who meekly for his dear name 
 Endured the cross, trampling upon the shame. 
 Content to be e'en «5 their Master was, 
 Despised, and reckoned among menial things ! 
 
AN APPEAL TO AMERICA. 23 
 
 AN APPEAL TO AMERICA ON BE- 
 HALF OF THE SLAVE. 
 
 BY T. WALLACE, 
 
 Pastor of the Congregational Church, Petersfield, (Eng.) 
 
 Land of the lake and river, 
 
 Land of the mountain-range, 
 To all thy fame and glory 
 
 Our mem'ries are not strange ; 
 We know thy skies are splendid. 
 
 We know thy sons are brave, 
 And yet, our hearts are saddened, 
 
 Because thou hast the Slave! 
 
 Thy children fought with valor. 
 
 To burst a galling yoke, 
 And never ceased exertion. 
 
 Till all their chains were broke ; — 
 And yet, in many cities. 
 
 And States thy waters lave. 
 Thou boldest fast the captive, 
 
 And grindest down the Slave. 
 
24 AN APPEAL TO AMERICA. 
 
 Thy churches tower in greatness, 
 
 And in their splendor rise, 
 And millions hymn the Saviour 
 
 Before thy wondering eyes ; 
 And still though Christ brings freedom, 
 
 And rescues from the grave. 
 Thou canst forget the negro, 
 
 And pitiest not the Slave ! 
 
 Oh, Christians ! Christians ! in that land 
 
 Of power, and wealth, and light. 
 Take care your glory is not quenched. 
 
 Your day be changed to night. 
 Arise — arise — without delay. 
 
 While you have time to save, 
 Break every negro's chain apart, 
 
 And cry— "God bless the Slave!" 
 
 Aug, Uth, 1841. 
 
PERSEVERE. 25 
 
 PERSEVERE. 
 
 BY T . WALLACE 
 
 American abolitionists ; cease not your prayers 
 and vigorous endeavors ; you may, and will have, 
 in the prosecution of your noble efforts, nume- 
 rous difficulties and trials to realize. Still, heed 
 them not. Persevere in the spirit of energetic 
 and believing prayer, and you must conquer at 
 last. Your cause is that of justice, humanity, 
 benevolence, and religion. Go on, then, widi 
 courage and fearlessness ; the God of love is 
 with you ! He will not suffer your efforts to 
 prove abortive. 
 
 Petersjield, (Eng.) Aug. i4th, 1841. 
 
 2* 
 
SONG OF THE RANSOMED CAPTIVE. 
 
 SONG OF THE RANSOMED CAPTIVE. 
 
 BY MARIA HAZELTON. 
 
 1 feel it ! I feel it ! I sure can tell, 
 For over my spirit there comes a spell, 
 A spell that entrances my very frame, 
 A spell close linked with Freedom's name. 
 She came to my ear and whispered peace, 
 She said to my heart, ''thy mourning cease," 
 And my soul looked up, though wild with fears, 
 And poured her thanks in gushing tears. 
 
 They told me oft that I should die. 
 Nor see the hour for which I sigh, 
 And my spirit sank within my breast 
 Like a wounded bird that knows no rest. 
 O gather me not with the dead, I cried, 
 O lay me not by the valley's side. 
 Till my soul hath caught a glimpse of thee. 
 Thou goddess fair of Liberty ! 
 
 She came ! She came ! and my spirit free 
 Like an uncaged bird in rapturous glee. 
 
SONG OF THE RANSOMED CAPTIVE. 37 
 
 Speeds merrily on each passing day, 
 While heaven attests my grateful lay ! 
 Count me not maddened, — though thus I sing. 
 My soul hath drank at Freedom's spring, 
 And I feel it, I feel it, my very soul 
 O'erflows with a tide that mocks control ! 
 
28 SYCOPHANCY. 
 
 SYCOPHANCY. 
 
 BY DANIEL O ' C O X N E L , M , P . 
 For the City of Dublin. 
 
 Within that land was many a malecontent 
 Wlio cursed the tyranny to which he bent ; 
 That soil full many a cringing despot saw, 
 Who worked his wantonness in form of law 
 
 London, March 9, 1841. 
 
LIBERTY. 29 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 Comely art thou, O Liberty! 
 
 BY J. P. BISHOP. 
 
 Yes, thou art comely, Liberty ! arrayed 
 In rich attire, adorned with costly gems, 
 The gold thy pavement and thy walls of pearl, — 
 Thy votaries, the great, the proud, the gay ; 
 E'en then thou'rt comely, and thy radiance shines 
 All beauteons o'er the splendor and the pomp 
 That clothe thy person and attend thy state ; 
 For thou art lovely, so that naught can share 
 Thy beauty quite, nor all suppress thy charms. 
 But thou art lovelier when a simple robe 
 Is girded gently round thee, in thy hand 
 Some wild flower from the tuneful streamlet's 
 
 verge. 
 And by thy side some true friend with true heart 
 Guileless and warm, and pure, and unsuborned ; — 
 Oh! thou art lovely then, comely and fair 
 As fabled nymph in some wild bower of wood, 
 Or Beauty's self with tresses all unbound 
 x\nd the soft wind's kisses on her dewy cheek. 
 
30 LIBERTY. 
 
 I love thee, Liberty ; thou art my joy, 
 My song by day, I dream of thee by night. 
 I love thee ; yes — and press thee close, and still 
 More close I press thee to this answering heart ; 
 For as I gaze upon the world I see 
 Full many a son of wretchedness and toil 
 Who ne'er beheld thy face or saw thy smiles 
 To love thee, or an "unrequited love" 
 Preys on his spirits as the vultures do 
 On carcasses of men in battle slain. 
 How many sighs for thee this day ascend 
 From yonder cane-fields, or those swamps of rice. 
 Or where the cotton-gin with ceaseless play 
 Tells of the unpaid toil and sweat of slaves ! 
 How many from those cities' din, Orleans, 
 Mobile, and Charleston, or that much loved spot 
 Bearing the sacred name of Washington, 
 Where thy own temple (all profaned I know) 
 Lifts high its dome, and from out-stretching wing 
 Extends the banner consecrate to thee, 
 O'er auction-blocks where human bones and blood 
 With swine and goats and rags and musty books, 
 Co to the highest bidder, and are used 
 As he may will lo use them ! Sighs I know 
 Ascend from lone hearts for their loved ones torn 
 
LIBERTY. 31 
 
 Away, — sighs all for thee, O Liberty ! 
 There is a mighty breath for thee; it comes 
 Like the south winds, and on those south winds 
 
 borne, 
 From vale and nook and plain and river's side, 
 And uttered by innumerable tongues. 
 
 Say, wilt thou visit those lone bosoms, pour 
 Thy joy within them, ravish with thy smiles 
 Each heart, tune every lip to melody ? 
 Go in thy homely garb and plain attire ; 
 No pomp attend thee — Go, in simple mien. 
 With graces all thy own; unlock those chains 
 And let the captives rise ; unseal those lips 
 And let the song of Jubilee come forth ; 
 As when old Winter's crystal bands are broke 
 From ice and mountain snow, and the soft spring 
 With balmy influence swells the impetuous flood, 
 Till all the vale is drenched, and the dark sea 
 Rejoices with the inland tide ; — so full. 
 So broad, impetuous, profound, so rushing forth 
 To meet the ocean of eternal joy, 
 So issuing from unnumbered sources, rise. 
 The general chorus from the tongues of men 
 New-born to all that has a charm for life. 
 
32 LIBERTY. 
 
 Renders it useful, or prcpaics it well 
 To live again beyond the opening tomb. 
 A nation in a day created new ! 
 I know it shall be ; and the uprushing sound 
 Of joy shall wake the heavenly organ then, 
 And sweet the Anthem swell through all the stops 
 Unnumbered deep in yonder Milky Way, 
 Heaven's finger-board of stars, and through the 
 
 vast, 
 Unfathomed, twinkling, trembling sea around ! 
 For when the earth was made, and on its soil 
 Two human beings only stood, new-formed, 
 When Music yet was young, and instruments 
 Were not, the stars beholding sang together. 
 And all the sons of God shouted for joy ; 
 A purer, sweeter, higher strain, in tones 
 More deep, more full, extending over shore 
 More wide and far, shall sweep along the heavens. 
 When countless men are jostled from the clods. 
 And in their hearts far more of pleasure taught 
 Already how to twine — pleasures of friends, 
 Of father, brother, son — than Adam knew 
 When all alone he stood beside his Eve, 
 That one vine only coiling round his heart. 
 
LIBERTY. 33 
 
 Creation's highest, noblest work, was man. 
 That only could awake the heavenly choir. 
 But, Liberty, thou form'st at once a world 
 Of men, full grown, with all the springs of life, 
 And soul attuned to all its notes of love. 
 Oh ! wilt thou hasten to yon pining slaves. 
 And quickly touch their toil-worn, aching limbs ? 
 Wilt thou unbind those fetters from the heart ? 
 Give those chained spirits wing to fly away. 
 Like the fledged bird, upon their own free thought.^ 
 Restore that husband to the wife's lone bosom ? 
 Yon stolen child to its grief-stricken father ? 
 Mingle those brothers', sisters' joy again .-^ 
 Return that bride to her own lover's arms ? 
 Bid Sorrow cleanse her face, and Wo look up 
 All beaming as the morn, and Joy leap forth. 
 And Pleasure dance, like lambkins in the spring- 
 time ^ 
 Come, warble through those dungeon walls thy own 
 Sweet notes of melody, till every door, 
 Touched by the strain, turns soft on easy hinges. 
 And every inmate drinks on thirsty lip 
 Once more the light of heaven, and travels forth 
 With thy own joy new rising in his heart. 
 3 
 
34 LIBERTY. 
 
 I do not ask iliy pomp, thy gay attire, 
 Thy train of worshippers, thy wealth, thy fame, — 
 For these are needless to the simple slave, 
 So used to toil, nor taught the luxuries 
 Of pampered life ; — but come in rural dress, 
 Thy gentle looks soft beaming through the dew 
 Fall'n in thy long night-watches, in thy heart 
 All love, in manners all simplicity. 
 Thy brow begirt with peace, and by thy side 
 The implements of labor — not uncouth 
 As slavery wields, but beautiful and light 
 And polished and refined for the free hand. 
 Such thou hast come to Britain's island slaves. 
 To Mexico, and the far distant South ; 
 Such did'st thou proudly visit his bright land 
 L'Ouverture, when righteous war had drove 
 Treacherous Invasion from his island shores ; 
 Such shalt thou quickly pass to other isles 
 In that delightful group, — and such, we trust, 
 Shalt yet revisit this ungrateful land 
 Of our forefathers, where thou did'st throw off 
 Light bondage from the white man's shoulders, 
 
 bid'st 
 His heart leap up — that he might nerve it then 
 With greater strength to crush the negro down. 
 
LIBERTY. 35 
 
 O turn not from us, for our sins, away, 
 All guilty though we are, and black with crime ; 
 But when thou free'st the slave, may we, too, stand 
 Beside his manly heart, enjoy with him 
 The precious boon, and with his soul rejoice. 
 We trust, O Liberty, thy wave-washed foot 
 Shall be permitted yet to press the soil 
 Of that all sorrowing land, whose care-worn sons, 
 Lo ! for "^ score of weary centuries. 
 Have nourish'd every soil beneath the stars 
 With tears, and filled each homeward breeze witli 
 
 moans ; 
 Whose own loved vales still echo to the sound 
 Of the slave hunter's foot-fall, or the chase 
 Of tribe for brother tribe, urged on by pelf 
 Of Christian seekers for the souls of men. 
 Yes ; so it shall be ; for 'tis written well 
 That Afric yet shall lift her hands to God 
 All penitent before him, when no more 
 The deed of blood shall crimson her fair soil. 
 Or chain be riveted on human limb. 
 Or man start at a brother's voice, as hares 
 When hounds pursue. Oh ! thou shalt then be 
 
 there. 
 And thou shalt linger long among those vales 
 
36 LIBERTY. 
 
 When once thy foot has jircssed them, and thy 
 
 voice 
 Sound sweet upon the breeze, untaught till then 
 To waft a strain melodious as thine. 
 
 Such, Liberty, tliou art, — all lovely nymph. 
 All comely in thy person and attire ; 
 Morn never shone so bright, so fair as thou, 
 Nor half so welcome to the sons of men. 
 Give me one kiss from thy warm lips, one 
 
 smile. 
 One token of thy love to me, — that kiss. 
 That look, that emblem of affection, deep 
 Shall lie all buried in this heart's warm folds ; 
 No wealth can buy it, nought of love besides 
 E'er win it, nought may drive it thence, no wave 
 Of earthly passions wash it all away. 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 37 
 
 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 SCENE I. A CAROLINIAN PLANTATION. 
 
 (Characters.) 
 
 Malie, an aged woman, 
 Ghestler, / ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 ZoNGOLA, r""' ""'^°' ). A group of slaves. 
 
 loLA, a daughter, \ 
 
 Carlos, afield slave^ J 
 Bandaloz, the master. 
 
 Ghestler. Come, come dear mother, look ye, 
 the joyous 
 Moon is up, and the old house clock, heedless 
 Of our march, shows that the old sentinel 
 Who watches vigilantly when night comes 
 With its lone weary hours, wnll tell the tale 
 Of our departure, — then, then dear mother. 
 All is up with us and, and lola — 
 O God protect her! lola, she will fall 
 A prey to that hyena — Bandaloz. 
 
 Malie. Speak yet more gently, Ghestler; for 
 I fear 
 Your words may fall upon some listening 
 
38 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Ear, and then we may find our miserable 
 Forms upon yon trees, wlicrc others like us 
 Seeking licaven's boon to enjoy, have been 
 The gaze of many passers by. O Ghestler, 
 Much my heart fails me ; but to-night I watched 
 Yon star, and oft it seemed to talk with me 
 And bid me hope that in that land where dwells 
 No vile Bandaloz, I may rest myself 
 And die in peace. 
 
 Ghestler. {Looking wildly and listening,) 
 Depart! — haste, quick, for lo, 
 Bandaloz comes! [Exit Ghestler.] 
 
 [Malie enters a low cottage where 
 lies lola just waked from sleep.] 
 
 fola. Mother, I've had sweet dreams 
 To-night, — methought that we were in that happy 
 Land of which Ghestler so often tells us, yes, 
 The land where wakes no Bandaloz to fright 
 Us evermore. But mother, shall we haste 
 To-night, or shines the moon too brilliant now ? 
 Zongola told me yesternight that ere 
 The midnight hour should come, we'd gather up 
 Ourselves, and guided by that star in yon 
 Fair sky, speed us to the northern regions. 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 39 
 
 Where smiles all that is glorious, aye, all 
 That is beautiful. 
 
 Malie. Yes, yes my daughter, 
 Ghestlcr has been here and bids us wait for him 
 Ere twelve shall strike ; for he says Bandaloz 
 Will be passing from the revel and you 
 May then fall a prey to his foul passions, — 
 And my child, thou knows 't I'd rather lay thee 
 In thy grave quickly, and mourn, aye mourn till 
 All my heart were gone, than cast thee forth to lead 
 A life of infamy, howe'er thy beauty 
 May attract the gaze of those around his board 
 Who throng, and quaff the wine that turns to fierce 
 Madness his every thought and look, 
 lola, darling child! it is for thee 
 That I will brave the dangers that attend 
 A flight from this vile land of servitude. 
 'T would not be long ere my poor weary limbs 
 W^ould find a grave beneath the sighing palm. 
 Should I remain; but O for thee my heart 
 Is wakeful ever, and the midnight hour 
 Finds me upon my knees, beseeching heaven 
 To compass thee around, to shield thy frail 
 And delicate form from the touch of aught 
 
40 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 That would contaminate, or bid depart 
 The Holy Spirit from thy trembling souL 
 lola, child, — fear not, you tremble, — strong 
 Is heaven in the defence of innocence, 
 Place there thy trust, and guardian angels 
 Shall encompass thee. But 'tis eleven ; 
 Soon Ghcsder and Zongola will be here. 
 And we must not detain them, lest a worse 
 Cup far than death should be dealt to us — Hark ! 
 They come ; take now that parcel on the shelf 
 And place it close in thy bosom ; O keep 
 It near thy heart, for it contains a token 
 Fair of thy own father's love, who sweetly 
 Sleeps in yon lowly vale, and knows no more 
 These griefs that throng around. 
 
 [Eiiter Ghestler and Zongola.] 
 
 Zongola. Come, mother, come, 
 And dear lola you will go with me ; 
 You, mother, with good Ghestler ; for he knows 
 All the w^ild woods around us, and his arm 
 Is strong for you to lean upon. The star shines 
 Bright which is to guide us to the northern 
 Skies, and the moon begins to hasten down 
 Behind the hills. {lola iceeps.) Now, now lola, 
 shame ; 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 41 
 
 Why do you weep ? You promised yesternight 
 That you'd be strong and mind me all the way, 
 And then you know I promised sacredly, 
 To help you every hour, to carry 
 You when weary. Come now, and do not fear. 
 
 lola. Well, Zongola, I do know I promised 
 You 'neath the shade of the old palm which rears 
 Its lofty head close by the clustering 
 Vines that I've so often tended, that fear 
 Should not be found within my heart so long 
 As God should strengthen me; but mother tells 
 Me of the dreadful doom that may await 
 Us should we be discovered, and my heart 
 Does shake most fearfully ! Yet I forbear. 
 'Tis not that for a moment I would dwell 
 Longer beneath this cot, but then the tears 
 Will come gushing from my eyes, unbidden, 
 When I think of — (/S/te pauses.) 
 
 Zongola. Yes, yes, I see, I know, 
 When you remember Carlos; but I saw 
 Him ere the sun Vvas low, and he bade me 
 Say farewell for him, and that soon he'd meet 
 You by those northern streams whither we hasten. 
 
45 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 lola. {Eagerly.) O, Zongola, did he say thus? 
 
 Surely 
 I had not thought that he were free from those 
 Huge chains that clanked about his heel when 
 
 last 
 I gazed upon him from the door as he pass'd 
 By. I did not dare to cast one farewell 
 Glance, although my heart were nigh to breaking; 
 For Bandaloz was near, and though he spoke 
 No words concerning Carlos, yet methought 
 He looked searchingly, as if he'd know why 
 I pressed my side so fearfully, for much 
 I trembled, lest he'd hear my heart's throbbings ! 
 I feigned a smile, though I had well nigh fainted — 
 But now I go, — I w^ill be strong, brother, 
 I will be strong. 
 
 Zongola. Do, do, lola dear. 
 
 Ghestler. (Coming towards tJicm.) Hush 
 children, — haste, it is no time to talk 
 Of tears : soon the revel will be ended. 
 And then Bandaloz, like a mad demon. 
 Will be here to snatch from us lola ! 
 This is the night he swore he'd make her his; 
 And then no more shall we behold her form 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 43 
 
 Gliding among us; and her voice, sweeter 
 Than music from the rich harp that's played 
 Within the hall, be lost to us forever. 
 But never shall he snatch that lamb away 
 From the embrace of Ghestler. No, never; 
 For I vowed when last I saw his cursed 
 Hand smoothing her flowing hair, that never 
 Should he see her more, save we were lying 
 In one common grave. Come, dear mother, 
 
 come; 
 On let us pass, and bid adieu, a last 
 Adieu to this vile sod. 
 
 [ They all pass out.] 
 
 SCENE II. THE WOODS MORNING. 
 
 Zongola. Look, mother, look, lola sleeps ; 
 gladly 
 I look upon those lids so gently closed; 
 For well I know her tender feet 
 Are even now full weary of the way; 
 But when again we journey, I shall take 
 Her in my arms, and I know that Ghestler 
 Will be kind to you and ease you onward. 
 How I love to look upon her as she 
 
44 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Breathes so gently:— now she sighs, poor thing ! 
 No douht her womanish heart is shaken 
 By sad dreams, the fear that we may never 
 Reach that stream which, crossed, will give us 
 Freedom. 
 
 Malie. No doubt, my boy, 'tis so, or else she 
 fears 
 The touch of Bandaloz; for daily did 
 She weep, lest he might come perchance by night. 
 While sleep dwelt heavy on me, and command 
 Her to depart and dwell with him. Often 
 When midnight frowned around us, hath she cried 
 In dreamy agony, O save me, mother. 
 For he comes, he comes ! but heaven protect 
 Her now, nor e'er permit her innocence 
 To pass away. 
 
 Ghestler. You must be faint, my mother, 
 A weary way we've come since twelve tolled 
 On the air; — let us break our fast; see, here 
 Is bread and a few berries that I've gathered 
 While you slept for a short hour after our 
 Journey. {Ghestler ivaiting.) You do not speak, 
 
 my mother; are 
 y ou sick ? 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 45 
 
 JMalie. No, no, my son, but heaven hath 
 Dealt most kindly with us. Shall we not give 
 Thanks ere we partake its bounties ^ 
 
 Ghestler. {Looking thoughtful.) Give thanks 
 Then, mother, if you will; but truly when 
 I've stood beside my master's board — {he stops) 
 
 — no, not 
 My master's, but Bandaloz's board, and heard 
 Mutter 'd those w^ords of grace, I've wondered 
 
 much 
 If there were any God, or, if a God, where 
 Dwelt he, or, if he lived, were he aware 
 Of the affairs of men ? Is he righteous. 
 Mother ? if so, how reconcile you all 
 Of deep, dark, damning sin that hath been wit- 
 nessed 
 By the gazing heavens upon that curs'd 
 Plantation we have left ? If God be just 
 And merciful, as you have often told, 
 Methinks Bandaloz would less often crave 
 His supervision ! 
 
 Malie. Ghestler, not all who cry 
 Lord, Lord, shall enter heaven ; many will 
 4 
 
46 Tl"' FUGITIVES. 
 
 Claim allinity with him, lo wliom he'll 
 Say, Dcpjui, I know you not. That goodness 
 Is his naiiiic; that his mercy aiul his love 
 UnboiuKled flow, my heart attests. Ghestler, 
 Cast ofi' that vile sLis[)icion of his justice. 
 I know thy path hath hecn with perils rife, 
 I know the hitter draughts, the scourgings vile. 
 And all the woes strewed thick within ihy path ; 
 Vet hath he not been merciful to thee ? 
 Forgettest thou the hour they sold thy brother 
 To a Georgian lord, and thou, my boy, 
 Wast left by my entreaty ? Then thou did'st 
 
 thank 
 Heaven, and bore witness to the kindness 
 Of his heart who heard my deep lamenting, 
 And granted thee to sojourn near my shed ! 
 O Ghestlcr, he is merciful, and much 
 It pains my heart when my boy dares question 
 His o'erflowing love. 
 
 Ghestlcr. I would not pain thee, 
 That lliou knowest well, my mother; I would 
 To heaven that I could even now, shake 
 Off each vestige of that unbelief clinging 
 To my torn heart. But let us eat, only 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 47 
 
 Give us the blessing, mother. Zongola 
 Come, and let Tola rest. Now we arc 
 Ready. {They give thanks and eat.) 
 
 tola. (Waking and looking round.) Ghesder, 
 Shall we not hasten ? how the sun 
 Pours down its rays, — the birds are out again, 
 And O, I long to be fast hastening 
 To that land where the sun of Freedom shines 
 With mild, sweet beams, — Come, Ghestler, may 
 
 we now 
 Proceed ? 
 
 Ghestler. We may not travel by the light 
 Of day. 
 
 lola. What, are we to remain till night 
 Fall on us with its dim and sable hue ? 
 
 Ghestler. Yes, we must venture forth only 
 when night 
 Shall cover us, and our guide appear. 
 
 Ma. But, brother, much I fear we may not 
 reach 
 Where all is free, if we thus linger here. 
 
48 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Zungola. lola, Ghestler sure can icll when best 
 It suits our safety; besides, Carlos hath 
 Told us 'twere best to wait the guidance 
 Of the star in the night heavens, than trust 
 To the poor knowledge of which ue arc masters. 
 
 lold. Yes, now T do remember what he said; 
 But yet my eye so longs to view^ that land; 
 My heart so leaps, e'en at the thought of rest, 
 (That odier name for Freedom) that I would 
 Hasten night and day, nor tire till touching 
 That good shore. Now I bethink me, surely 
 Carlos said he had not been detected 
 In his flight had he but waited night-fall. 
 We must, then, now take warning, lest perchance 
 Our wanderings be discovered. I'm sure 
 I'd rather die here in these lonely woods. 
 Where the cool winds sighing their endless tale, 
 Might tell that poor lola fled, and laid 
 Her 'nealh their kindly shade. Yes, sooner would 
 I die, than fall again into the hands 
 Of Bandaloz ; for though he often said 
 That you, dear mother, should not want for bread, 
 Nor e'er be sold to labor for another, 
 (Because of me,) I did not much beheve; 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 49 
 
 For well I knew he loved the cursed gold 
 That's found in Georgian hands, and waited 
 Only for a timely hour to cast you 
 Forth, to die in lonesome wretchedness ! 
 
 JMalie. 'Tis true, lola, true, my darling child ; 
 He only waited for a favored hour 
 To part us. Then no more should I hear those 
 Words of cheer from that bless'd book, which oft 
 
 hath 
 Been my only solace. You, lola. 
 He permitted to gain knowledge — knowledge. 
 Which to me, and to your brother, he denied ; — 
 You have read from out these holy leaves, words 
 That have wiped the gathering tears away — 
 And given such comfort to my stricken soul, 
 As I believe none but the Holy One 
 Could grant. Had'st thou departed, gone then 
 
 were 
 Every hope from this poor heart. But yet thou 
 Liv'st to bless me, child; and though thy beauty 
 May attract the gaze of some, to me thy 
 Chief attraction is that filial love, that 
 Deep hatred of whate'er contaminates, 
 Taught by the blessed lips of him who bore 
 4* 
 
oO THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Our sins on Cahary's hill. 'Tis this, dear 
 ( 'liikl, I trust, that liaili giv'n strength, jjurpose 
 or soul to thee, and taught thy every thought 
 To rise to Him who watches o'er thy path, 
 Who though unseen, will guide thee to that shore 
 Where Freedom smiles. Keep thou this 
 book, (Giving her the Bible,) 'twill teach 
 Thee more of heaven than yet thou know'st. 
 Could I but read its sacred lines, how blest 
 My soul. But soon I trust I shall behold 
 All that is there revealed of those bright walls 
 And mansions, fitted up for the abode 
 Of souls who trust in Christ. 
 
 loin. ^lothcr,' I trust 
 You will live many years, to eat the bread 
 And drink the cup of Freedom. Others who 
 I. eft the sultry South, with more of hoary 
 Age upon them, have sought and found with joy 
 That goodly land. 
 
 Ghestler. (Rising suddenly and listening.) 
 lola, hush ! hark ! 
 
 Sure amid the brush I hear strange trampling. 
 Save us, O God ! they come ! Crouch, Zongola. 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 5I 
 
 lola, breathe not, lest we die. — Heaven, 
 High heaven be praised, they've passed and we 
 Have not been seen. I saw Bandaloz foremost 
 In the chase, and Carlos too was there. 
 
 lola. Wliat ! 
 Carlos with him ? How this ? You do amaze 
 Me, — Ghestler, it could not be ! 
 
 Ghestler. 'Tis even thus, 
 Tola. Others too were there. Perchance 
 They took him, hoping to obtain some track 
 Of the wild haunts through which he journeyed 
 When he sought to fly from their oppressions. 
 
 tola. But. Ghestler, think you he would betray 
 us, 
 Should he chance to pass us ? 
 
 Ghestler. I know not, dear 
 lola. But do not fear, for they will 
 Not pass this way as they return. Three moons 
 Ago, poor Carlos fled, and when the hounds were 
 With us, they lost track of him; and, passing 
 O'er the river, we returned again. 
 So will they do, if I judge rightly, now. 
 
52 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 lint k't us rurllicr i^o into the woods, 
 
 WIrtc \v(; may lie concealed till the dark night 
 
 (J'crtake us — then will we hasten onward. 
 
 Jlitlir. Do, do, dear Chestler; for my heart 
 
 well nigh 
 Had ceased its throbhings, when your words of 
 
 praise 
 Came to my low crouched ear. Sure It was meet, 
 My first-born, that your lips should pour forth 
 Praise to Him whose hand liath been a darkening 
 Cloud before the eyes of our pursuers. 
 What think you now, my Ghestler, of his 
 Mercy ? Dare you farther question his kind 
 Hand, displayed for our deliverance ? 
 
 Ghestler. Enough, 
 My mother, 'twas his love, his kindness all. 
 That turned their feet from this our resting place; 
 And never shall my lips forget their song, 
 ( )r my heart fail to offer unto Him, 
 Its homage reverent. Ikit we must haste, 
 And seek a shelter in the forest woods. 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 53 
 
 SCENE III. A CAVE IN A DENSE FOREST. 
 
 Ghestler. (Aside to Zongola.) Zongola, very 
 much I fear that this 
 Our toilsome way will fatal prove to our 
 Good mother. Her hands are fevered, and her 
 Brow is throbbing far too quick, for aught save 
 Raging fever. She hardly spake the night 
 Past; and the way to me seemed far more drear, 
 Because she breathed no prayer — audible, 
 I mean ; for though I think not much of prayer, 
 A kind of feeling cometh over me 
 When the name of Jesus is pronounced, which, 
 To be honest now, I feel no other time. 
 
 Zongola. Ah, yes, I too have w^atched her 
 for three days 
 More closely than before; and though I sought 
 To hide it from lola, yes, and e'en 
 Myself, I could but think that she were fast 
 Weakening. When I spoke to her, she answered 
 But in feeble tones, and in her words 
 There seemed less of that ardor than was wont 
 To bless our ears. Oh, should she not survive. 
 
54 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Clhcstler, how should wc comfort Tola? 
 Sure she would wilhcr like a tender plant 
 Snaj)|)ed from the stem that gave it nourishment. 
 T^ut, (Jiicstlcr, it may lje only weai'iness; 
 Can we not rest awhile and nourish her ? 
 A stream is near at liand. I'll haste and bring 
 Fresh water to bathe her limbs, and to refresh 
 Her spirit. 
 
 Ghcstler. Do it; but much I fear 'twill 
 All be vain. This is the seventh night the stars 
 Have seen us wandering forth in silence. 
 When I carried her within these willing arms 
 The night diat's fled, she wept, but spoke no 
 
 words ; 
 I feared to ask die cause, lest she should say 
 What my heart dreaded. She clasped her with- 
 
 er'd 
 Arms around my neck, and wept profusely. 
 Bitter and dreary were the hours that passed. 
 I5ut yet she lives; and O, heaven grant she 
 >ray not die, but live to be our comfort in that 
 Longed for land to which we haste. 
 
 [Exit Zongola.] 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 65 
 
 lola. Mother, are 
 You awake? {Answering herself .) No, no, she 
 
 sleeps. Ghestler, look ! 
 How parched and fevered are her lips; I fear 
 She is too weary with the tedious paths 
 Through which weVe traversed, though full well 
 
 I know 
 You've carried her quite oft, and bore her through 
 The tangled swamps, and tarried oftentimes 
 That she might gain a little rest. But — peace 
 Upon her rest ! Perhaps sleep will refresh 
 Her spirit, and bring back her strength. 
 
 Ghestler. {To himself.) Poor thing, her 
 hopes, I fear, are idle dreams. 
 
 [Zongola enter s.l 
 
 Zongola. How is our mother ? has she not 
 waked ? 
 I feared she would be thirsty ere I found 
 This shell in which to bring her drink. Here are 
 Some berries, which perchance may strengthen 
 her; 
 
56 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 For sparingly hath food been given since 
 Yesternight. 
 
 fola. Dear mother, wake; for Zongola 
 Hath brought you cooling drink, and berries fresh 
 From the trees. 
 
 jyialie. I see, my daughter. Ghestler, 
 Raise me up, for I feel but poorly. Why I 
 Is it morning ? or what time ? I surely 
 Have been sleeping far too long — shall we haste ? 
 I sec the moon, — Ghestler, is it time ? 
 
 Ghestler. No, 
 Mother, morn will soon be here; but we'll rest 
 Ourselves till night shall find us. You were ill; 
 And much we feared for you, lest overcome 
 With weariness and the cold, chill night damps, 
 You might find a grave within this dark 
 And lonely forest. 
 
 JMalie. Thank you, kind Ghestler; 
 For I now remember that my poor heart 
 Had the same fear, as sorrowful I laid 
 Myself to rest upon these gathered leaves. 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 57 
 
 Again hath heaven been kmd, to guide our 
 Footsteps to this shehcr. 
 
 lola. Yes, mother, true — 
 Heaven hath been kind to us; but now, eat 
 I pray you, and refresh yourself. 
 
 Zongola. (Aside.) She looks 
 Much better, Ghestler, and I hope she will 
 Recover, so that we may soon pursue 
 Our route. lola will do well, for she 
 Hath travelled far, though she could scarce for- 
 bear 
 To weep, as her feet bled profusely. Poor 
 Child, how my heart bled for her, as she wiped 
 The tears from her bright sparkling eyes, 
 And tried to smile. I kissed her, but my heart 
 Forbade the utterance of a word, lest 
 I should weaken the strong purpose displayed 
 In her more than earthly face, as she threw 
 Back her long dark hair, and called upon high 
 Heaven for further strength. O, Ghestler, much 
 I wish we had the faith treasured within 
 Her breast. It surely does support the soul 
 Amid severest trial. 
 5 
 
58 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Glicstler. \cs, perhaps, 
 'Tis heaven supports licr — for far loo frail 
 Were she, to bra\ e the storm we've passed, and 
 
 those 
 Chill nis^ht winds. But let us go and see 
 If mother will not come and breathe the fresh 
 Sweet air, beneath this tree; perhaps it were 
 Not well, that she should longer he within 
 The cave. 
 
 SCENE IV. MALIE AND lOLA, SEATED BENEATH THE 
 
 SHADE OF A TREE NEAR THE ENTRANCE TO THE 
 CAVE. 
 
 lola. How gloriously the sun shines over 
 The hills. Mother, does not the gentle breeze 
 Refresh you. O 'tis pleasant here, and were 
 We but escaped quite out of diis vile land, 
 How would I sing. How long before our feet 
 Shall tread that fair green spot where Freedom 
 
 lives, 
 Sweet mother ? 
 
 Malic . 1 know not, daughter, but trust 
 In heaven 'twill not be Ion";. Ghesder can 
 
THE FUGITIVES. ^(^ 
 
 Tell perhaps how near we are to that l)ri,-ht 
 Shore. I trust that I shall reach it; though oft 
 My heart has failed since wc left the dwellini; 
 Where my poor heart hath felt so much of ill, 
 And bitter grief. 
 
 lola. O yes, dear mother, heaven 
 Will hear our prayers; and though kind Ghestler 
 Says he does not much believe in Him whom 
 Our hearts love, yet when we are delivered, 
 I know he can but feel that (Jod is good. 
 And that his care hath brought us to that shore. 
 
 Malie, Yes, yes, I trust he may be taugl 
 though late. 
 That love divine appointed e'en his lot. 
 True, sorrow hath been his, as well as mine. 
 He would not be subdued,— 'twas this that caused 
 Bandaloz to deal thus roughly with him: 
 If he but learn of Christ, my heart will cease 
 Its throbbings with sweet peace. 
 
 [Ghestler and Zongola come to the 
 cave, bringing Carlos with them.] 
 
 lola. O, Carlos ! What ! 
 Oh! mother, do we dream? Say, say, and can 
 
 'b"f 
 
aO THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 It 1)0 ? — ti'll us, ( ) tell us, how came you 
 Tlius to find our rc'^tiiig j)lace ? 
 
 Zongola. Yes, 'tis Carlos, lola, lie hath come 
 Ere wc have reached the spot whither the star 
 That guides us, rests itself. Wc found him 'ncath 
 A tree, as we sought to gather something 
 For yourself and mother to partake. Look, 
 lola, 'tis he himself! 
 
 JSlaUc. Heaven hath 
 Sent him hither ; but how changed. 
 
 Ghcstlcr. Yes, he is changed, but he shall tell 
 us, how 
 He hath escaped. 
 
 Carlos. Yes, Tola, I'm here. 
 Here to zo with you to that happy spot 
 ^Vhich we've so often longed for; and for which 
 Our nights are turned to day, our day to night. 
 But I must tell you how at last I 'scaped. 
 
 Chcstlcr. Yes, do, we wait to hear, for oft we 
 spoke 
 Of you. ]^id you not jiass us ere that fearful 
 Storm o'ertook us in those woods where we lay 
 Concealed ? 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 51 
 
 Carlos. Yes, and I saw you; but 1 goaded 
 On my beast, and passed you, trembling lest those 
 Who hunted witli me should discover you. 
 
 tola. How took they you to seek us ? 
 
 Carlos. 'Tis not strange 
 You wonder at their course. But I will tell 
 You all. They charged upon me your departure ; 
 They bade me pass forest and glade, 
 O'er which / traversed, when I ventured forth 
 To seek that shore to which we now, all haste. 
 High hopes were theirs, that they would overtake 
 You in the woods; but ha! they failed. Joyous 
 Then, I turned my steps to the poor rice swamp ; 
 Thanking kind heaven that yon were safe ; resolved 
 To gird me once again, and strike for freedom. 
 
 Zongola: How, then, are you thus far ? 
 
 Carlos. Aye ! truly, will 
 I tell you the escape. That very night 
 I fled and journeyed ; but alas ! three days 
 Had not elapsed, ere I was captured, bound. 
 And cast bleeding with wounds, within the walls 
 Of the old prison house. Again I called 
 5* 
 
62 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 ( )n heaven. My heart kejit hojiing ever; 
 Though I saw no power could help, save His 
 Whose hand, wondrous in working, evermore 
 Succor afibrds, to those wlio pour their souls 
 In prayer. 
 
 lola. How wonderful that you are here ! 
 Is it not thrice that you have hecn delected? 
 
 Carlos. Yes, thrice, ere last they cast my 
 weary limhs 
 Into tliai loathsome den. 
 
 lola. Yes; now then, tell 
 Us how deliverance came to your sad heart. 
 
 Carlos. Well, as I told you; bleeding, torn, 
 oppressed 
 As with a millstone on my aching heart, 
 T sank upon the floor. Lifting my soul 
 To heav'n, T prayed for help; nor was that prayer 
 In vain. A storm arose, — the heavens were 
 Red with lightnings. Thunders uttered loud 
 
 tJieir 
 Awful voice; as though the earth and arching 
 Sky would meet in dire commotion. Casting 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 53 
 
 My eyes around the dismal cell, they fell 
 Upon this weapon, (Holding up an axe.) 
 Quick as the lightning, 
 
 Visions of freedom passed before my mind ! 
 Fair fields regained and forests dark traversed. 
 No more to be recrossed. Forward I sprang, 
 Loosing my fretted heel from the vile chain; 
 And watching where to strike, as the 
 Lightning played around. Then, when deep 
 
 thunder, 
 Poured its notes upon the air, I struck ! once ! — 
 Twice ! — again ! — and lo ! the door unclosed. 
 I sallied forth, all breathless, tremblingly 
 Feeble, through excess of joy. The clouds 
 
 poured 
 Forth their stores in floods, and the forked light- 
 nings 
 Were my guide; till, all o'ercome, I cast myself 
 Beneath a sheltering tree, and knew not aught 
 Of joy, or grief, till the sun rose high o'er 
 Each vale and hill. Forward I've hasted since; 
 And now how good to look upon you once 
 Again, and hope that we may soon be found 
 Upon that shore, for love of which we've perilled 
 AIL 
 
54 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 Ghcstkr. How my heart leaps at thought of 
 your cscaj)C, 
 And at the loss of Bantlaloz. Methinks 
 He'll sleep, less easily now \vc have fled. 
 He thought to prey upon lola. 
 
 Carlos. Bless 
 You, for all your love and care for her, 
 My Ghestler. Heaven will due recompense 
 Aflbrd thee ; and thy heart, I trust, will soon 
 Pour out its thanks to heaven, beside 
 Those streams, in which we long to bathe our- 
 selves. 
 
 Ghestler. Mother, if all is well, we'll hasten 
 forth 
 To-night, for Carlos now will give us aid. 
 And you will not be weary. With his help. 
 We soon shall reach where liberty is known ; 
 Where Bandaloz no more, with angry glance, 
 Calls us to labor, and to unpaid toil. 
 
 J\I(iUc. The sight of Carlos, and this fresh- 
 ing breeze, 
 Hath much refreshed me ; and unwaveringly 
 My heart is fixed in confidence, that heaven 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 65 
 
 Will bring us to our rest. Ghestlcr, I wait 
 Only the word. Tola's heart is glad; 
 And well she may rejoice at sight of him 
 Whom she had left behind, whom she had 
 
 mourned 
 As one who might no more be seen on earth. 
 Oh heaven be praised for all its love to these 
 My children. 
 
 )CENE V, A COTTAGE ON THE BANK OF A RIVER IN 
 
 CANADA. 
 
 lola. Oh ! mother, are we here .? Here, where 
 we breathe 
 The blessed air of Liberty, so sweet. 
 So passing sweet to our torn hearts ? I gaze 
 Upon this sparkling tide, hour after hour, — 
 Till my eyes fail me, all o'ercharged with tears. 
 I cast them upward to the smihng heaven. 
 All radiant with beauty, and I read. 
 Nothing but Freedom, Liberty, yea. Life ! 
 Is it not w^orth the toilsome way we've trod. 
 To breathe this air } to feel this rest of soul ? 
 And know that ne'er again shall we behold 
 The scourge, or chain, or hear the fearful voice 
 Of Bandaloz .? 
 
55 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 i\falic. Yes, daughter, it is sweet 
 To feel IK) terror crecplnj; o'er our souls ; 
 To know that we have nought of ill to fear, 
 From those who late oppressed us ; to cherish 
 Tlie blessM hope of dying free; of laying 
 Our poor weary linibs upon the spot where 
 Dwells no base oppressor ; this is worth all 
 Of toil and want encountered in the woods, 
 And dreaiy forests. I shall die happy 
 Now, knowing diat He who guided our frail 
 Steps to dijs glad shore, will watch and bless you 
 With a Father's tenderness. 
 
 [Enter Ghcstlcr^ Zongola and Carlos.] 
 
 Zongola. Well, modier, 
 And Toln, how like you this our land ? 
 
 Carlos. So you count this your land, Zon- 
 gola, ha ! 
 How think you this would fall upon the car 
 Of l^andaloz ! Would he not curse heaven 
 That e'er the star in the night sky, should point 
 To this bright spot of earth, and guide our feet 
 To Freedom's soil ? 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 G7 
 
 Zongola. (Laughing.) Yes, yes, no doubt 
 he would ; 
 But now, 'tis all in vain! Methinks howe'er 
 His memory may fail, he will not soon 
 Forget the night that gave you liberty. 
 
 lola. Nor shall we, Zongola. 
 
 Zongola. Well said, lola. 
 Doubtless 'tis treasured in your heart with more 
 Of grateful love, than aught beside. 
 
 Ghestler. But come, 
 Good mother, and lola, let us know 
 How you have passed the hours, since morn 
 
 arose 
 
 ? 
 
 Malie. All happy, Ghestler. God hath filled 
 
 our cup 
 With choicest gifts. We have been praising 
 
 heaven 
 For all its love to us while journeying 
 Through the wilderness; and oft we breathe 
 The prayer that you, my son, may yet believe 
 In Him who comforteth the sorrowing 
 Of earth, and bids them joy in hope of heavenly 
 Rest. 
 
58 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 fold. Ye?, Glicstlcr will, I know, remember 
 All his love, aiul pour his soul an ollering 
 Unto heaven ! 
 
 Carlos. So it shall be, Tola. 
 
 Zongoht. Amen ! Then shall we be that 
 family 
 
 Wliich nought may sever. 
 
 Malie. Nought, my sweet children. 
 Already do I feel, that he w^io gave 
 Me all of love and pleasure I possess. 
 Will guide us to one home, — one joyous, bright. 
 Yea, everlasting rest. 
 
THE REFUGEE MOTHER IN CANADA. 09 
 
 THE REFUGEE MOTHER IN CANADA 
 
 BY SARAH DYMOND. 
 
 Victoria! Oh Victoria, 
 
 Queen of the brave and free ! 
 We come from the land of scourge and chain. 
 
 And tell our griefs to thee ; 
 Through many a dark and dreary wild, 
 
 With beating hearts we come, 
 And here, beneath thy gentle sway, 
 
 We find a quiet home. 
 
 Oh ! thou hast riven thy bondmen's chain, 
 
 Hast set thy captives free ; 
 And thou dost still a home provide 
 
 For the wandering refugee ; 
 For though a crown adorns thy brow, 
 
 Thy heroes all are brave, 
 Thou carest still for the poor and wrong'd, 
 
 Thou pitiest still the slave. 
 
 Then hear, thou royal lady, hear 
 The tale of the refugee ; 
 6 
 
THE REFUGEE MOTHER IN CANADA. 
 
 Look oil thy own young child, and hst 
 
 With patient car to me: 
 / am a mother too, — my heart. 
 
 Like thine, with love o'erflows ; 
 Thou know'st a mother's joys, but / 
 
 Only a mother's woes. 
 
 Beneath a bright Virginian sky. 
 
 My precious babe was born; 
 Her father ne'er embraced his child. 
 
 For, on that fatal morn, 
 An Alabamian dealer came, 
 
 And culled from the doom'd band 
 The father of my babe, and bore 
 
 Him to that heav'n cursed land. 
 
 ( )h ! as I mourned my husband long, 
 
 No joy my hours beguiled ; 
 I knew I ne'er should see him more. 
 
 Nor he his new-born child. 
 1 did not know, as day by day, 
 
 1 wept his doom, — so soon 
 As one brief year had wheeled its course, 
 
 His fate should mark my own. 
 
THE REFUGEE MOTHER IN CANADA. 71 
 
 The trader came his annual round, — 
 
 I held my first-born child ; 
 And as I clasped it to my breast, 
 
 The unconscious infant smiled : 
 His choice was made ; but as he came 
 
 The price of blood to pay, 
 Me, weeping sore, he took, but gave 
 
 My darling babe away. 
 
 Then, in that moment's agony, 
 
 I seized my child and fled. 
 And in a neighboring forest dark, 
 
 I laid my aching head. 
 I rose, — and by the moon's bless'd light. 
 
 With breathless haste I ran; 
 Each rustling leaf seemed the blood-hound's step. 
 
 Each tree, a mounted man. 
 
 The God I loved, preserved me then 
 
 Through many a weary day ; 
 And many a night, with toilsome step, 
 
 I held my quiet way. 
 Once as I lay beneath a shade. 
 
 Concealed from passers by, 
 I listened with deep fear, and heard 
 
 Some steps approaching nigh. 
 
And ncai*, and ncai'cr still they came — 
 
 I had no power to flee — 
 I laid my bahc beneath the bush, 
 
 And bent npon my knee; 
 I told my woes and fears to Him 
 
 "Who hears the negro's prayer, 
 And in that last extremity, 
 
 He saved me from despair. 
 
 The white man came, — Oh, with what fejii 
 
 I gazed upon his face I 
 But only kindness there, did I 
 
 With anxious vision trace. 
 Who has not heard of Fuller^s name, 
 
 Friend of the refugee ? 
 He came with fostering care to save 
 
 INIy darling babe and me. 
 
 O, then, f had a joyful road — 
 
 He took my child and me; 
 He bore us to his own fair home, 
 
 Home of the refugee ; 
 Beneath his hospitable roof 
 
 We spent one happy day, 
 The next all clad, and guarded well, 
 
 He sent us on our way. 
 
THE REFUGEE MOTHER IN CANADA. 73 
 
 And here we are, Victoria ! 
 
 As free as thought can be ; 
 May we be thy peculiar care — 
 
 And every refugee. 
 We will be loyal to thy crown, 
 
 We'll pray for thee and thine, — 
 And wilt thou teach our darkened minds 
 
 To know the will Divine.'' 
 
 6* 
 
74 MARY S. PARKER, 
 
 MARY S. PARKER. 
 
 Tliorc arc few persons, who have heen lor au} 
 length of lime interested in the cause of the o})- 
 pressed Slave, who were not more or less ac- 
 quainted with the individual whose name stands 
 at the head of this article. Numerous are the 
 testimonials that have reached us in relation to 
 her since her decease. Of her devotion to the 
 cause of the slave, and her deep interest in the 
 various benevolent operations of the present day, 
 thousands are witnesses. She was indeed justly 
 esteemed and loved by all who had the privilege 
 of an acquaintance with her. Some months be- 
 fore her death, she left Boston, and became 
 deeply interested in the cause of Moral Reform, 
 and labored in connection with the American 
 Moral Reform Society. The following extract 
 from the "Advocate of Moral Reform," cannot 
 fail to interest the friends of the cause. 
 
 Few " knew thee but to love thee, 
 Or niimed thoe but to praise." 
 
 'J'ruly may it be said " Death loves a shining 
 mark." He has taken a devoted and useful 
 
MARY S. PARKER. 75 
 
 Christian from a promising field of labor, into 
 which she had just entered, with high hopes and 
 expectations of success, and a loved and valued 
 sister from a circle of relatives and friends who 
 can never cease to deplore her loss. 
 
 Our own personal acquaintance with Miss P., 
 though comparatively brief, was peculiarly inti- 
 mate and endearing. We had long known and 
 admired her character as an untiring and ener- 
 getic laborer in another department of the vine- 
 yard — but it was not until she came among us 
 as a member of tlie Visiting Committee of this 
 Society, that we knew how justly she was enti- 
 tled to the respect and confidence awarded her 
 by the community. Her character was a rare 
 compound of feeling and judgment — of retiring 
 delicacy and Christian faithfulness — of sweet hu- 
 mility, and heroic boldness in defending the cause 
 of truth — of feminine reserve, and unconquerable 
 energy and perseverance. She entered into the 
 work of "home missions" in this city with her 
 characteristic zeal, and prosecuted it for several 
 months, though even then suffering under the 
 incipient stages of the disease which carried her 
 to the grave. 
 
76 MARY S. PARKER. 
 
 Slie was a wise and ])rndcnt counsellor, accus- 
 tomed to take enlarged and far-reaching views, 
 and fearless of consccjuences when once the right 
 was ascertained. 
 
 In private life, our departed sister shone with 
 uncommon lustre. '' In her lips was the law of 
 kindness," and die heart of those favored with 
 her friendship, safely trusted in her. Her gentle 
 and unassuming deportment won for her the es- 
 teem and affection which were increased and 
 strengthened by farther acquaintance with her nu- 
 merous virtues. But her crowning excellence was 
 consistent, devoted piety. At all times, in all 
 places and situations, she was a Christian — not 
 in name only, but in deed and in truth. Her 
 religion was eminently practical, and led her con- 
 stantly to inquire what the Saviour who died for 
 her, would have her to do in his cause. When 
 once the path of duty was ascertained, no trials 
 or discouragements caused her to waver or turn 
 aside. Her example of patient endurance and 
 perseverance in well-doing, under reproach and 
 ohlofjuy, is a precious legacy to all who are 
 bearing the burden and heat of the day, in any 
 portion of the field. 
 
STANZAS. 77 
 
 We mourn for the loss sustained by the church 
 and the world in this dispensation, but we rejoice 
 that another combatant is crowned victor, and has 
 ascended to her Father and our Father — to her 
 God, and our God. May we all be followers of 
 them, that through faith and patience are inherit- 
 ing the promises, that in due time we also may 
 share their glorious reward ! 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY HEARING OF THE DEATH OF MARY 
 S. PARKER. 
 
 ■« The. righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance.^' 
 
 BY M . V. B . 
 
 They tell me, sister, that thou hast fled 
 
 To the land, where the silvery tide 
 Is rolling fresh from the crystal bed, 
 
 Where the pride of the Lamb abide ! 
 They say that never again may we hear 
 
 Thy voice, so gentle and sweet — 
 That thine eye with a radiance all its own, 
 
 No more our own shall greet. 
 
78 STANZAS. 
 
 They say that tliou dwcllest where breezes soft 
 
 Fan the ^ood and the loved of eartli, 
 Where the curse of the Lord is forever removed 
 
 And day hath an endless birth. 
 They say that thy robes are snowy white, 
 
 All washed in the blood of the Slain, 
 Like those the Beloved of the Saviour saw 
 
 AVliile banished on Patmos' plain. 
 
 They say that before the azure throne, 
 
 Thou bendest a seraph now; 
 That the Lamb with the light of his radiant face 
 
 Hath chased from thy lovely brow, 
 Each sorrow and care, — and bade thee weep 
 
 No more, while eternity rolls 
 Its endless tide from his own pure throne. 
 
 Or heaven its beauty unfolds ! 
 
 They say that thou wavcst a fadeless palm, 
 And a harj) from whose golden string. 
 
 Flows music, far sweeter than David poured 
 In the halls of the envious king. 
 
 Yes, yes, thou hast fled, and we joy to know- 
 That thine eye, oft dimmed with tears. 
 
 Will never again commingle with ours 
 In this shadowy vale of fears. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 70 
 
 We gaze on the bright and martyr path , 
 
 Thy spirit hath trod with haste ; 
 On the toilsome hours for the bondman passed, 
 
 Who pines in Slavery's waste. 
 Thy name, with the holiest loves we own. 
 
 Entwined shall be, — nor ever, 
 Till we walk those azure depths with thee, 
 
 Shall our inmost spirits sever! 
 
80 LETTER FROM THOMAS CLARKSOxX. 
 
 LKTTKU FROM THOMAS CLARKSON. 
 
 The following letter has been received by the Society, 
 from the venerable Thomas Clarkson. Knov^'ing that many 
 would feel it a privilege to peruse his words, we insert a 
 largo portion of the same. 
 
 My Esteemed Friend, — 
 
 Your letter gave me great pleasure, when I 
 learnt from it that your Committee ^^ wns pressing 
 onicards in the cause of the helpless captive." 
 ^oiD is the time (when the feeling for his wretch- 
 ed situation is so generally spread abroad,) for 
 all to make one grand effort for his deliverance. 
 
 I feel myself obliged to your Committee for 
 the interest they take in my life, and for their 
 earnest prayers for the continuance of it. iVlas ! 
 I am sorry to say, that if your prayers are even 
 successful, I could noio be but of little further 
 use to ilie sacred cause. J\Iy day, as it relates 
 to work, is now over. I am in the eighty- 
 second year of my age. My nervous system is 
 shattered to pieces, and I am besides encom- 
 
LETTER FROM THOMAS CLARKSON. yl 
 
 passed with infirmities which belong to our nature 
 in adv^anced years. I cannot therefore repine at 
 the common lot of humanity, but am thankful, 
 truly thankful to God, for having spared my life 
 so long as to see the whole civilized world taking 
 up our cause, and your own and other Societies 
 in the United States, laboring for the same great 
 object. Indeed from what I have already seen, 
 and from what I now see, T shall depart this life 
 with the full belief, that our great cause is now 
 in the hands of God himself to perfect it, either 
 in mercy or in judgment, and that he has willed 
 that this "abomination of desolation" should cease 
 even in our days, and that the work already be- 
 gun is noio in progress; but, my dear friends, let 
 us not relax in our exertions on that account. 
 The Almighty makes use of human agency to 
 accomplish his will, and let us glory in being his 
 agents. 
 
 I WTOte lately a letter to the clergy of the 
 Southern States, which is to be re-printed in 
 America, and which is now probably in your 
 hands. It is the last work I can ever undertake. 
 I have therefore poured into it my whole soul, as 
 far as feeble years would permit. 
 7 
 
8J LETTFR FROM THOMAS CLARKSON. 
 
 You iiiiisi excuse some blunders in this letter, 
 as I am nearly blind^ and cannot see always 
 where 1 direct my pen. 
 
 I am, my dear friend, with affectionate remem- 
 hrance to the Females of your Committee, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Thomas Clarkson. 
 
 Playford Hall, near Ipswich, SuJIolk, July 7, 1841. 
 
THE FUGITIVE'S WELCOME. 83 
 
 THE FUGITIVE'S WELCOME. 
 
 BY MRS. J . M . POND. 
 
 (3 say, weary one, dost thou flee from the huul 
 Oppression has rendered so drear.'' 
 Hast thou severed thyself from the family band, 
 From the wife of thy bosom most dear ? 
 
 The Saviour has watched o'er thy perilous way, 
 His hand hath conducted thee on, — 
 And now in his name, we would cordially say, 
 As a brother, we loelcome thee home. 
 
 There is joy in our midst, for the soul that is sad ; 
 Here are friends that would rescue and save ; — 
 And words of sweet comfort, and smiles that 
 
 make glad 
 The heart of the sorrowful slave. 
 
 Dost thou sigh for thy loved one, left cheerless 
 
 and lone, 
 And weep that she cannot be free ? 
 The low winds of evening shall whisper thy moan, 
 And waft her a message from thee. 
 
S4 THE FUGITIVE'S WELCOME. 
 
 Bid ilicni tell her that lii^hi is beginning to dawn, 
 
 That a day of redemption is near! 
 
 For e'en from the ''bar," to the nurs'ry maid's 
 
 song, 
 The claims of the Captive we hear. 
 
 An Adams, a v^ladc, and a Morris can plead 
 
 The cause of the poor and oppressed ; 
 
 And the music that comes from the Isles of the 
 
 frecdj 
 Is breaking the slaveholder's rest. 
 
 •' The Lord is not slack" — he will visit this land ! 
 Is he not, even now on his way ? 
 His angels are clad, and in readiness stand, 
 His fearful commands to obey. 
 
 '' O God, to whom vengeance belongeth," forbear- ! 
 Speak the word — and oppression shall cease ; 
 Let our nation be changed in answer to prayer, 
 To a nation of freedom and peace. 
 
MIND IS FREE. 86 
 
 The following articles are from the hearts of little English 
 children, forwarded us by the kindness of one of our Trans- 
 atlantic correspondents. We say from the hearts, for child- 
 hood itself feels that mind is free, and that he who attempts 
 to enslave another, commits a sin against God and humanity. 
 With one word of alteration, we exclaim in the language of 
 another, "The offerings of a child are sweeter than the 
 incense of Persia proffered to the sun; — yea, more delicious 
 than odors wafted from a field of Arabian spices by the 
 western gales." 
 
 MIND IS FREE, 
 
 Y E . B 
 
 Armed in freedom's noble cause, 
 The heart escapes proud tyrant's laws, 
 Nor can frail earthly fetters bind 
 By cruel force the noble mind. 
 A winged soul doth chains defy, 
 And find its anchor sure on high; 
 Religion gives the Captive scope 
 'Mid galling chains to find his hope^ 
 And with oppression's iron rod. 
 May find sweet refuge in his God. 
 7* 
 
86 COMPASSION 
 
 COMr ASSIGN. 
 
 \ \ LITTLE GIRL ELEVEN YEARS OF AGE 
 
 " Slavery is a bitter draught,'' 
 With care and sorrow it is fraught, 
 Though slavery brings sorrow to the mind, 
 Yet the slave "refuge in his God" may find. 
 
 He loves as well as white men do. 
 His nation and his country too ; 
 Tlie slave has mind unlike a brute, 
 Then cultivate kind nature's fruit." 
 
THE SLAVE AUCTION. 87 
 
 THE SLAVE AUCTION. 
 
 BY REV. CHARLES W. DENISON. 
 
 •' For sale, slaves, horses, and other cattle." — Southern 
 Advertisement. 
 
 " Also, a LIBRARY of a miscellaneous character, chiefly 
 Theological. 
 
 27 NEGROES, 
 Some of them very prune, two mules, one horse, and an 
 old wagon." — Advertisement of the Estate of the late Rich- 
 ard FURMAN, B. B., of S. C. 
 
 " Also, a young mother, with a lot of fine children." 
 
 Passim. 
 
 The shambles are all set around, and now the 
 slaves are brought 
 
 From groaning market fastnesses, into the open 
 court. 
 
 Rap ! rap ! rap ! rap ! the hammer goes, and hark ! 
 the auctioneer 
 
 Rings out his call for customers, in accents strong 
 and clear : 
 
 ''Come, walk up, gentlemen! and see what bar- 
 gains I have got — 
 
88 THE SLAVE AUCTION. 
 
 Walk up this way and look at them ; they are a 
 glorious lot !" 
 
 And now they lead iheiii to the stands, before 
 the rabble crowd, 
 
 The mother's head lumg down in tears, the chil- 
 dren crying loud. 
 
 Tp step the buyers, merrily, to gaze upon them 
 there, 
 
 And ever and anon a laugh breaks on the mourn- 
 ing air. 
 
 [n every part they mark the lot, to catch defec- 
 tive points, 
 
 And some seize hold with iron grasps, and press 
 the yielding joints ;' 
 
 The form — the eye — the step — the voice — are 
 gauged and measured all, 
 
 And now again the salesman sounds his loud and 
 heartless call : 
 
 ''Walk up! walk up! who bids? how much? 
 Come, start me, at Uiem, now !" 
 
 And as he spoke, a fiendish smile lit up his sal- 
 low brow. 
 
 ''They're going! going! cheap as dogs: who 
 bids for them ? how much ? 
 
 Of all the thousand lots I've sold, I never offer- 
 ed such ! 
 
THE SLAVE AUCTION. 
 
 Come, going ! going ! gentlemen : Hey ! ' Beauty' 
 
 stand up here, 
 And let us take a look of you, and your pretty 
 
 little dear!" 
 
 Forth from the throng the mother stepped, her 
 
 infant in her arms, 
 A woman white as he who sold — a double slave 
 
 in charms : — 
 "How much for these? who bids? how much? 
 
 five hundred dollars, say ? 
 Three thousand would not buy them, w^ere not 
 
 sheriffs here to-day ! 
 Six hundred : that is right, good sir ! too cheap at 
 
 that by half! 
 Seven ! eight ! nine ! ten ! ah ! that's the word ! 
 
 It makes my hammer laugh ! 
 A thousand dollars for the two — and well may I 
 
 say two — 
 They're worth two thousand — every cent — or 
 
 they're not worth a sous. 
 One thousand dollars ! going ! quick ! can't dwell ! 
 
 speak quick ! and ten ! 
 And ten ! — and twenty ! that's it gents ! you talk 
 
 it up like men ! 
 
90 Tlir SLAVE AT'CTION. 
 
 Can't wait! who bids? how much? speak quick! 
 
 and twcnty-fivc ! no more ? 
 Wh) ! fifteen, hundred is my price, and not a 
 
 farthing lower ! 
 Look at that woman ! See that child ! — and thirty ! 
 
 — thirty-five ! 
 .She is as sound as beautiful — and both of theni 
 
 will thrive ! 
 Come, gents ! they're going ! going ! quick ! — and 
 
 forty — that is well ! 
 Pshaw ! I can't think for such a price so fine a 
 
 pair to sell ! 
 And forty-five ! — and fifty ! — going ! — going I — 
 
 GONE! 
 Who is the buyer ? Ah ! I see : each deer should 
 
 have his fawn !" 
 
 .lust then the former owner passed, with slow and 
 pompous pace, 
 
 And as he came, the mother raised the infant to 
 his face ; 
 
 As still he strutted on in front, with step of 
 power and jirlde, 
 
 With look and voice of scorn and grief the blush- 
 ing woman cried : 
 
THE SLAVE AUCTION. 91 
 
 " There's one thing more, my master, that has 
 
 not yet been known — 
 The children you have sold ivith me, are all of 
 
 them your own/" 
 
ij2 LINES TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ESQ. 
 
 LINES TO THOMxVS CLARKSON, ESQ- 
 
 i; Y I. . >I . HALL. 
 
 Ilumnnity, thou hast a name 
 Emblazoned on the scroll of fame, 
 A name lliat ne'er shall pass away, 
 Though earth with all its thrones decay. 
 Say, reader, would'st thou scan that name ' 
 Cast o'er the wave to yonder fane, 
 Thine eye, — where all in living light 
 Is seen a form, whose locks, though white 
 With age, yet from whose beaming eye 
 Shines forth that fire which ne'er will die. 
 Though suns and planets disappear. 
 All shall admire, all shall revere. 
 The spotless Clarkson, — for his name 
 Stands first upon the scroll of fame ! 
 
 Boston, Oct. 18 11. 
 
LJ^ES. 93 
 
 LINES, 
 
 AfiDRESSED TO THE AMERICAN DELEGATES, WHO AT- 
 TENDED THE ANTI-SLAVERT CONVENTION, HELD 
 IN LONDON, IN 1840. 
 
 BY H . R. 
 
 May Justice and Mercy your efforts inducing, 
 Bring Peace to your bosoms when far o'er the 
 wave; 
 You have sought your own homes where true 
 hearts are producing 
 Kind Sympathy's hopes for the suffering slave ! 
 
 Do you ask our assistance ? — then may it be given, 
 With feehngs to which only hearts can respond; 
 The Christian may hail it as Heaven's commis- 
 sion, 
 And the earth-ward bound spirit as Nature's 
 demand. 
 
 Here intellect's powers, and the soul's deepest 
 breathings, 
 Have mingled in one o'er the woes of our kind, 
 8 
 
94 LINI^. 
 
 And tlic fnlhcr's, llic husband's and patriot's feel- 
 ings, 
 Have given full force to the promptinj^s of mind. 
 
 Anil in age? to come, when the heart's deep 
 emotion 
 Has ceased, and the wronged and pleader are 
 one. 
 Your children's children shall hear with devotion, 
 The names of the Victors who Victory won. 
 
 But not this your reward — far higher awaits you. 
 Where Fame and Ambition, alike are unknown; 
 Where the warrior w^ith joy shall each weapon 
 relinquish 
 For the breast-plate of Peace and the Ama- 
 ranth Crown ! 
 
 Bath, CEng.) 11 »)u>. 12, 1840. 
 
SLAVERY. 95 
 
 SLAVERY. 
 
 Y U . R 
 
 To the mind which prejudice has not biassed, 
 to the judgment which interest has not warped, 
 and, ere they have been blunted by familiarity 
 with crime, to those holy feelings of our nature 
 which bind men as one family to each other, the 
 sin of Slavery must appear one of the deepest 
 abominations that ever found resting-place in the 
 heart of man, — one of the foulest streams that 
 ever had origin in that impure and polluted source. 
 
 But alas! so fearful is the triumph of evil over 
 good, and of the mean, unworthy motives of preju- 
 dice and interest, over those which are noble, 
 just, and generous, diat the monster Tyranny has 
 stalked unmasked before the world, gloried in 
 his iniquity, and bid scornful defiance to any at- 
 tempt at the rescue of his victims. 
 
 Nor have vice and infamy alone, been his sup- 
 porters ; professed piety and honor have refused 
 to anathematize the accursed thing. But praise 
 be to Him whose ''ways are past finding out," 
 
96 SLAVERY. 
 
 a brighter clay lias dawned, revealing the works of 
 darkness in all their horrid derormily. The cry 
 of the bondsman has been heard, thrilling our 
 hearts to their inmost centres, and arousing our 
 slumbering energies — and the echo has thundered 
 back on the oppressors to let the oppressed go 
 free. And where the loud call is spurned, trem- 
 ble, proud tyrant, for the day of retribution, when 
 thou and thy suffering victim shall stand impar- 
 tially before Ilim, who, as be was once your 
 Saviour, shall be your Judge, and *' verily there 
 is no respect of persons with him." And thou 
 despised and nfHictcd one, remember that while 
 man is powerful, (lod is omnipotent, and that 
 the commission is still going forth "to preach de- 
 liverance to the captives, and the opening of the 
 prison to them that are bound." 
 
 Jialh, 1 1 mo. 12, 18 10. 
 
THE LIBERTY BANNER. 97 
 
 THE LIBERTY BANNER. 
 
 In January last, by a vote of the Massachusetts 
 Female Emancipation Society, a Banner was prof- 
 fered to the town in the Tenth Congressional Dis- 
 trict which should cast the largest proportionate 
 number of votes for the Liberty Party's candidate. 
 The town of Berkley won the Banner; and on the 
 17th of last June it was presented to the noble 
 men who stood erect in the political whirlwind that 
 swept over our country, at the time of the last 
 Presidential election. 
 
 The manner of presentation was as follows : — 
 On the 17th of June, (the day which is celebra- 
 ted in memory of the battle of Bunker Hill,) the 
 friends of Freedom in Berkley thought that they 
 could not render more effectual service to the cause 
 of Freedom, than by having an Anti- Slavery gath- 
 ering. Accordingly a meeting was appointed, and 
 the spacious and commodious meeting-house w'as 
 filled to overflowing, both morning and afternoon, 
 with the most eager and attentive listeners. In the 
 afternoon, after the singing of a hymn, written for 
 the occasion by a member of the Massachusetts F. 
 8* 
 
95 niE Liin.RTY hAxXNER. 
 
 E. Society, the Rev. Nathaniel Colvcr, on behalf 
 of the Massachusclts F. E. Society, gave the 
 Banner into the hands of the Rev. Thomas An- 
 dros, a soldier of the revolution, who had been 
 appointed to receive it Ijy the voters of Berkley. 
 
 The presentation was followed by a long and 
 deeply interesting speech, wiiich was received by 
 the audience with the most enthusiastic cheering, 
 Mr. Andros replied with feelings of deep emo- 
 tion, and more than once was the tear seen to 
 steal down his care-worn cheek, while every 
 heart felt the mighty weight attached to words 
 falling from those lips, which had ever breathed 
 of Freedom, and for wliich he had sacrificed 
 much of health and comfort. 
 
 It was indeed a goodly sight to behold the 
 venerable Andros, with his locks white with age, 
 displaying ^'before the people" that Banner, which 
 we trust will one day wave over the Capitol, 
 l^onii; live tliosc noble souled men, who, despis- 
 ing the petty trickery of "party," stood forth for 
 the defence of the inalienable rights of all ! 
 
 As some of our friends desire a description of 
 the Banner, we append the following: — It is 
 
THE LIBERTY BANNER. 99 
 
 made of pure white satin. The face presents the 
 goddess of Liberty, holding the staff of Freedom 
 with her right hand, while her left touches a 
 shield. Floating in the breeze at the head of the 
 staff is a pennant, on which are inscribed the words 
 of Cowper, " / ^0 to make Freemen of Slaves P^ 
 On the shield is written, " One shall chase a 
 thousand;" while at the feet of the goddess are 
 marked in letters of gold, the words of the sweet 
 singer of Israel, '' Thou hast given a Banner 
 unto them that fear thee, that it may be displayed 
 because of the truth." 
 
 The reverse of the Banner has the Liberty 
 Party's emblem, the beautiful, fragrant, and ever- 
 enduring Cedar of Lebanon, under which is found, 
 " The righteous shall grow like a Cedar in Leba- 
 non." The whole is encircled with a superb, gold 
 colored fringe and tassels. 
 
 The ladies of Berkley were deeply interested 
 on the occasion, and displayed much taste in 
 erecting arches of flowers, and ornamenting the 
 house with garlands of roses and evergreen, so 
 that it was literally filled with perfume from heav- 
 en's own breath. 
 
100 'r<^ JOSEPH STLllGE, ESQ. 
 
 TO .loSKJMI STURGE, ESQ. 
 
 ri V A >I L M 15 E R F T II E 31 A S S. F. E. S C I E T Y 
 
 When the car thine accents lieard, 
 Tlien it blest thee for the word ; 
 When the eye beheld thy face 
 Beaming with benignant grace, — 
 Then arose from sire and son, 
 Youth and maid, with voice as one, 
 Blessings for the gifts of heaven, 
 By thy hand so freely given. 
 
 In tliose Islands of the Free, 
 Where the song of Jubilee 
 Floats upon each spicy gale. 
 Waking echoing hill and dale. 
 There tlie Negro bows the knee. 
 Breathing words of peace to Thee, 
 And each lisping babe and mother, 
 .loy to call thee, Friend and Brother. 
 
 Memory ever fresh shall keep 
 All thine acts of love, and dee() 
 
TO JOSEPH STURGE, ESQ. 101 
 
 In each Freeman's soul shall dwelL^ 
 Thoughts of Thee, whose magic spell, 
 Shall awake to ceaseless toil, 
 All the good of every soil, 
 While Columbia'' s sons of need, 
 Own thee for a Friend, indeed! 
 
lOi THE BALLOT BOX. 
 
 TllK BALLOT J30X. 
 
 « V L . A . SMITH. 
 
 A revolutionary soldier stood beside the ballot 
 box. Thoughtful he stood and gazed upon the 
 thronging multitude. A young man came to him 
 and a-kcd if lie would vote for Harrison and 
 Tyler. " For Harrison and Tyler," cried the 
 soldier, "slave-holding Tyler! Never." Indig- 
 nantly he spurned the proffered vote, and raising 
 his tall form to its full height, exclaimed, " a 
 Northern lahorcr vole for slavery ! — a Northern 
 laborer vote for unpaid toil and fettered limbs ! 
 May his hand perish, if he thus betray the bond- 
 man. The ballot box is Freedom's altar. O 
 come not here to sanction slavery! Go down to 
 Southern blood-stained fields, there chain immor- 
 tiil souls, and drive them to the field like brutes. 
 Aye, seize the driver's lash, and scourge to death 
 your hel])less victims. But come not to the bal- 
 lot box, to vote for chains and fetters. A holy 
 thing is Liberty. Profane not thus her sacred 
 shrine, "i'our fathers fought, and bled, and died, 
 to win for you a rich inheritance — a precious 
 
THE BALLOT BOX. 103 
 
 legacy — the priceless ballot box; but ye are bar- 
 tering it for gold. Oh, shameful avarice; for 
 paltry gold ye sell your country's freedom. 
 Shame on America ! she fought for liberty, and 
 holds in slavery groaning millions ! Are ye not 
 riveting chains and fetters on yourselves and on 
 your children? Oh, rouse ye, ere it be too late. 
 Methinks even now I hear the fetters clank — 
 methinks, even now, I see the falling lash, and 
 Southern masters driving Northern yeomen to the 
 Ballot Box ! " 
 
 Glastcnhury , Conn., 1841. 
 
104 THE FREED CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE FREED CAPTIVE. 
 
 BY S . P . H. 
 
 Oh ! God, I am free, 
 My limbs are unbound ; 
 My shackles have fell 
 On this holy ground. 
 
 Here, never is shed 
 The Captive's lone tear; 
 Oppression's base tread 
 Shall never come near- 
 No ! men are not here 
 By brothers fast bound ; 
 Here the lash and the chain 
 Shall never be found. 
 
 Yes, yes, I am free ! 
 And far, far away, 
 The hunters may speed 
 In search of their prey. 
 
 Back, back, they may go, 
 My peril is o'er; 
 
THE FREED CAPTIVE. i05 
 
 My feet they have touched 
 Fair Liberty's shore ! 
 
 Now, joyous my heart 
 With rapture doth swell, 
 The Captive's last tear, 
 In bondage hath fell ! 
 
 Boston, 1841, 
 
 1* 
 
106 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 TO THE WOMEN OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 BY M . V . BALL. 
 
 When the Adriatic tide 
 
 Poured its wealth on every side, 
 
 And fair Venice rung with glee, 
 
 At the marriage of the sea ; 
 
 And the Bucentaur with gold 
 
 All bedecked, iu costly fold 
 
 GHded to bright Lido's shore, 
 
 With full many a playful oar, 
 
 Then in gems and diamonds gay. 
 
 Singing many a roundelay. 
 
 Woman stood, fresh, beauteous, beaming, 
 
 As the morn, from Ida streaming! 
 
 When the war-cry on the air 
 Spoke a Nation near despair; — 
 With an eye undimmed with sorrow 
 Or sad visions of the morrow. 
 Stands the Peasant of Orleans, 
 Where in pomp and beauty, gleams 
 All the pageantry of State, 
 Which on crowns and sceptres wait — 
 
STANZAS. 107 
 
 " Follow ! follow ! " is her cry, 
 " France shall live, or we will die ! " 
 And ere fled the summer roses, 
 Clovis all the tale discloses. 
 
 Though no pomp in silvery bay 
 Calls, her beauty to display, 
 Or no cohort's glittering steel 
 Tells the woes that thousands feel, — 
 Woman hath not cast away 
 Care for those who nightly pray. 
 By the moon's pale silvery light, 
 Crushed by dark oppression's blight. 
 No ! on Britain's vine-clad shores. 
 Oft the secret prayer she pours. 
 That o'er Western lake and river. 
 Nought but Freedom's bark may quiver. 
 
 Yes, and not alone that prayer ; 
 Faith that works with zeal is there. 
 Causing heart and hand to move 
 In the holy work of love. 
 Comforting the few and weak, 
 Who have dared to do and speak. 
 For the millions o'er whose soul 
 Tyranny usurps control; 
 
106 STANZAS. 
 
 Where C'oliHiil)ia\s banner waves, 
 Wet witli blood of countless slaves, 
 Where for sipping Freedom's water, 
 Perish grey-haired Sire luid Daughter 
 
 Blessings evermore attend 
 AH the steps of those who lend 
 Hand or heart, or voice, or eye. 
 To the bondman's wo, or cry. 
 When on Zion's mountain, stand 
 All the blest, from every land. 
 These shall come in bright array, 
 There redeemed from Slavery's sway, 
 And in joyful accents, pour 
 Gladsome music on that shore ; 
 While the Saviour's radiant face, 
 Shining with unmingled grace, 
 Wakes the enchaining minstrelsy, 
 '^Ye have done it unto me!" 
 
 r.KRATA.— In the article headed '« izT/cr/i/," eighth line 
 pagr 29, for •• share" read shade. ^ ' 
 
 Page 3l,Bevenlh line from the bottom, for <' dark sea" 
 rrad deep tea. 
 
 Page 32, eighth line from the bottom, for "shore" read 
 'pace. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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