The Liberty Minstrel Part 26

But I'll not wear their fetters, Not I, indeed, not I!

My vote? It is not mine To do with as I will; To cast, like pearls, to swine, To these wallowers in ill.

It is my country's due, And I'll give it, while I can, To the honest and the true, Like a man, like a man!

O shame, &c.

No, no, I'll hold my vote, As a treasure and a trust, My dishonor none shall quote, When I'm mingled with the dust; And my children when I'm gone, Shall be strengthened by the thought, That their father was not one To be bought, to be bought!

O shame, &c.

The Flying Slave.

FROM THE BANGOR GAZETTE.

AIR:--"_To Greece we give our s.h.i.+ning blades_."

The night is dark, and keen the air, And the Slave is flying to be free; His parting word is one short prayer: Oh G.o.d, but give me Liberty!

Farewell--farewell: Behind I leave the whips and chains, Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.

One star s.h.i.+nes in the heavens above That guides him on his lonely way;-- Star of the North--how deep his love For thee, thou star of Liberty!

Farewell--farewell: Behind he leaves the whips and chains, Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.

For the Election.

TUNE:--'_Scots wha hae with Wallace bled_.'

Ye who know and do the right, Ye who cherish honor bright, Ye who wors.h.i.+p love and light, Choose your side to-day.

Succor Freedom, now you can, Voting for an honest man; Or you may from Slavery's span, Pick a Polk or Clay.

Boasts your vote no higher aim, Than between two blots of shame That would stain our country's fame, Just to choose the least?

Let it sternly answer no!

Let it straight for Freedom go; Let it swell the winds that blow From the north and east.

Blot!--the smaller--is a curse Blighting conscience, honor, purse; Give us any, give the worse, 'Twill be less endured.

Freemen, is it G.o.d who wills You to choose, of foulest ills, That which only latest kills?

No; he wills it cured.

Do your duty, He will aid; Dare to vote as you have prayed; Who e'er conquered, while his blade Served his open foes.

Right established, would you see?

Feel that you yourselves are free; Strike for that which ought to be-- G.o.d will bless the blows.

Hail the Day!

AIR:--"_Wreathe the bowl_."

Hail the day Whose joyful ray Speaks of emanc.i.p.ation!

The day that broke Oppression's yoke-- The birth-day of a nation!

When England's might Put forth for right, Achieved a fame more glorious Than armies tried, Or navies' pride, O'er land and sea victorious!

Soon may we gain An equal name In honor's estimation!

And righteousness Exalt and bless Our glorious happy nation!

Brave hearts shall lend Strong hands to rend Foul slavery's bonds asunder, And liberty Her jubilee Proclaim, in tones of thunder!

We hail afar Fair freedom's star, Her day-star brightly glancing; We hear the tramp From freedom's camp, a.s.sembling and advancing!

No noisy drum Nor murderous gun, No deadly fiends contending; But love and right Their force unite, In peaceful conflict blending.

Fair freedom's host, In joyful boast, Unfolds her banner ample!

With Channing's fame, And Whittier's name, And BIRNEY'S bright example!

Come join your hands With freedom's bands, New England's sons and daughters!

Speak your decree-- Man shall be free-- As mountains, winds and waters!

And haste the day Whose coming ray Speaks our emanc.i.p.ation!

Whose glorious light, Enthroning right, Shall bless and save the nation!

(From the Globe.)

The Ballot.

BY J.E. DOW.

Air, "Bonnie Doon," page 54.

Dread sovereign, thou! the chainless WILL-- Thy source the nation's mighty heart-- The ballot box thy cradle still-- Thou speak'st, and nineteen millions start; Thy subjects, sons of n.o.ble sires; Descendants of a patriot band-- Thy lights a million's household fires-- Thy daily walk, my native land.

And shall the safeguard of the free, By valor won on gory plains, Become a solemn mockery While freemen breathe and virtue reigns?

Shall liberty be bought and sold By guilty creatures clothed with power?

Is HONOR but a name for GOLD, And PRINCIPLE A WITHERED FLOWER?

The parricide's accursed steel Has pierced thy sacred sovereignty; And all who think, and all who feel, Must act or never more be free.

No party chains shall bind us here; No mighty name shall turn the blow: Then, wounded sovereignty, appear, And lay the base apostates low.