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With those mild arms of Truth and Love,
Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood;
His daily cup of human blood:
But rear another altar there,
To Truth, and Love, and Mercy given,
Shall call an answer down from Heaven!
Written on reading an account of the meeting of the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society, and the MOв which followed, on the 21st October
UNSHRINKING from the storm,
With WOMAN's fragile form,
But more than manhood's heart!
Faithful to Freedom, when
Its name was held accursed
Faithful, 'midst ruffian men,
Oh! steadfast in the Truth!
Not for yourselves alone,
Your lofty zeal was shown:
For the bondman of all climes
For Freedom's last abode-
For scorned and broken laws
For honour and the right-
On a world of evil cast
For the CHILDREN of your love-
Worthy of THEM are ye—
The Pilgrim wives who dared
The waste and unknown sea,
And the hunter's perils shared.
Worthy of her whose mind,
Triumphant over all,
Ruler nor priest could bind,
Worthy of her who died,
Martyr of Freedom, where
Your Common's verdant pride
Opens to sun and air:
Upheld at that dread hour
By strength which could not fail;
Before whose holy power
Bigot and priest turned pale.
God give ye strength to run,
Unawed by Earth or Hell,
The race ye have begun
Of Freedom has gone forth,
The bondmen of the earth!
Until IMMORTAL MIND
Unshackled walks abroad,
Murmurs on land or wave;
And, in his course, the sun
Looks down upon no SLAVE!
THE COVENANTER'S DREAM.
IN a dream of the night I was wafted away,
To the moorlands of mist, where the bless'd martyrs lay, Where Cameron's sword and Bible are seen,
Engraved on the stone, where the heather grows green.
'Twas a dream of the ages of darkness and blood,
It was morning, and summer's bright sun from the east, Lay in lovely repose on the green mountain's breast;
On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shining dew Glistened sheen 'mong the heathbells and mountain flowers blue;
And far up in heaven, in the clear shining cloud,
And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed nothing but glad
The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of green July's bright morning.
But, ah! there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
'Twas the few faithful ones, who with Cameron were lying Concealed 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were crying,
For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering.
Their faces were pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was unbreathed:
With eyes raised to Heaven, in meek resignation,
The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing,
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
As the hosts of th' ungodly rushed on to the slaughter.
Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire they were shrouded,
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded; Their dark eyes shot lightning, as, proud and unbending, They stood like the rock which the lightning is rending.
The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming; The heavens were dark, and the thunder was rolling, While in Wellwood's dark moorlands the mighty were falling.
When the righteous were fallen, and the combat had ended,
A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended,
A seraph unfolded the doors bright and shining,
On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the paths of the thunder the horsemen are riding;
Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye,
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory.