erable length and descriptive interest, was published in. 1848. In the same year appeared Voices of Freedom, a collection of some forty poems, written during the preceding fifteen years, and upon themes suggested by Slavery. In these poems may be felt the intensest heart-throbbings of Whittier's freedom- and right-loving nature./ These 'Voices of Freedom' are no bad reading at the present day. They are themselves battles, and stir the blood like the blast of a trumpet. What a beat in them of fiery pulses! What a heat, as of molten metal, or coalmines burning underground! What anger! What desire! And yet we have in vain searched these poems to find one trace of base wrath, or of any degenerate or selfish passion. He is angry, and sins not. All the fires of his heart burn for justice and mercy, for God and humanity; and they who are most scathed by them owe him no hatred in return, whether they pay him any or not."* The subjoined Lines, written on the passage of a "Bill for excluding papers written or printed, touching the subje of Slavery, from the U. S. Post-office," will fully sustain the above criticism. MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit Their names alone? Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenched within us, Now, when our land to ruin's brink is verging, In God's name, let us speak while there is time! What! shall we henceforth humbly ask as favors * D. A. Wasson, in Atlantic Monthly, March, '64. Here snall the statesman forge his human fetters, And, in the church, their proud and skilled abettors Torture the pages of the hallowed Bible, Both man and God? Shall our New England stand erect no longer, Oh, no; methinks from all her wild, green mountains— From her rough coast, and isles, which hungry Ocean Round rock and cliff From the free fire-side of her unbought farmer— From each and all, if God hath not forsaken Our land, and left us to an evil choice, Loud as the summer thunderbolt shall waken A People's voice. Startling and stern! the Northern winds shall bear it Over Potomac's to St. Mary's wave; And buried Freedom shall awake to hear it Within her grave. Oh, let that voice go forth! The bondman sighing Shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying, Revive again. Let it go forth! The millions who are gazing And unto God devout thanksgiving raising, Bless us the while. 8 Oh, for your ancient freedom, pure and holy, For the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, and lowly, Sons of the best of fathers! will ye falter Prayer-strengthened for the trial, come together, Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal, a series of prose essays, written in an antique style, and descriptive of the habits and customs of 1678, appeared in 1849. This volume was, the next year, succeeded by Old Portraits and Modern Sketches, which consisted of prose essays on Bunyan, Bax ter, Ellwood, Nayler, Andrew Marvill, the Quaker John Roberts, for the Ancients, and the Americans, Leggett, Rogers, and Dinsmore, for the Moderns. In the same year with the last-named publication was also issued a volume of poems, under the name, Songs of Labor, and other Poems. These "Songs" are six in number, and are severally ascribed to The Ship-builders, The Shoemakers, The Drovers, The Fishermen, The Huskers, and The Lumbermen. They abound in accurate pencillings of the industrial spheres they commemorate, and in devout and poetic expressions. THE LUMBERMEN. WILDLY round our woodland quarters, Thickly down these swelling waters Through the tall and naked timber, Gleam the sunsets of November, From their skies of gold. O'er us, to the South-land heading, On the night-frost sounds the treading. Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping, Soon, his icy bridges heaping, Shall our log-piles rise. When, with sounds of smothered thunder, On some night of rain, Lake and river break asunder Winter's weakened chain, Down the wild March flood shall bear them To the saw-mill's wheel, Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them With his teeth of steel. Be it starlight, be it moonlight, When the earliest beams of sunlight And the forest echoes clearly All our blows repeat. Where the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear, And Millnoket's pine-black ridges Hide the browsing deer: Where, through lakes and wide morasses, Or through rocky walls, Swift and strong, Penobscot passes White with foamy falls; Where, through clouds, are glimpses given Of Katahdin's sides, Rock and forest piled to heaven, Far below, the Indian trapping, Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping Where are mossy carpets better And than Eastern perfumes sweeter And a music wild and solemn, Make we here our camp of winter; Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, But their hearth is brighter burning And the welcome of returning When, like seamen from the waters, Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, Not for us the measured ringing Not for us the Sabbath singing Ours the old, majestic temple, Where God's brightness shines Down the dome so grand and ample, Propped by lofty pines! Through each branch-enwoven skylight, Speaks He in the breeze, As of old beneath the twilight Of lost Eden's trees! |