JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (1807-1892) TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON Champion of those who groan beneath In view of penury, hate, and death, In the steadfast strength of truth, Go on, the dagger's point may glare Then onward with a martyr's zeal; 1832. Read at the convention in Philadelphia which founded the American Anti-Slavery Society in December, 1833. Whittier was a delegate from Massachusetts. EXPOSTULATION 1 Our fellow-countrymen in chains! A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood, By storied hill and hallowed grot, ΤΟ Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank! 1 Dr. Charles Follen, a German patriot, who had come to America for the freedom which was denied him in his native land, allied himself with the abolitionists, and at a convention of delegates from all the anti-slavery organizations in New England, held at Boston in May, 1834, was chairman of a committee to prepare an address to the people of New England. Toward the close of the address occurred the passage which suggested these lines: "The despotism which our fathers could not bear in their native country is expiring, and the sword of justice in her reformed hands has applied its exterminating edge to slavery. Shall the United States-the free United States, which could not bear the bonds of a king-cradle the bondage which a king is abolishing? Shall a Republic be less free than a Monarchy? Shall we, in the vigor and buoyancy of our manhood, be less energetic in righteousness than a kingdom in its age?" (Author's Note.) Up, then, in Freedom's manly part, Scatter the living coals of Truth! The shadow of our fame is growing! Up! while ye pause, our sun may set In blood around our altars flowing! Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth, Feel ye no earthquake underneath? 100 Rise now for Freedom! not in strife Down let the shrine of Moloch sink, His daily cup of human blood; But rear another altar there, To Truth and Love and Mercy given, 110 And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer, Shall call an answer down from Heaven ! 1The village of Haverhill, on the Merrimac, called by the Indians Pentucket, was for nearly seventeen years a frontier town, and during thirty years endured all the horrors of savage warfare. In the year 1708, a combined body of French and Indians, under the command of De Chaillons, and Hertel de Rouville, the infamous and bloody sacker of Deerfield, made an attack upon the village, which at that time contained only thirty houses. Sixteen of the villagers were massacred, and a still larger number made prisoners. About thirty of the enemy also fell, and among them Hertel de Rouville." The minister of the place, Benjamin Rolfe, was killed by a shot through his own door. In a paper entitled "The Border War of 1708," published in my collection of Recreations and Miscellanies, I have given a prose narrative of the surprise of Haverhill. (Author's Note.) Even now the villager can tell 1838. MEMORIES A beautiful and happy girl, With step as light as summer air, Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadowed by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair; A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring A mind rejoicing in the light Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, 10 Unfolding like a morning flower: A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke. How thrills once more the lengthening chain Of memory, at the thought of thee! Its fulness of the heart is mine, I hear again thy low replies, I feel thy arm within my own, And timidly again uprise 20 30 With soft brown tresses overblown. Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled And folly's self seemed wise in thee; I too can smile, when o'er that hour 40 The lights of memory backward stream, Yet feel the while that manhood's power Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. Years have passed on, and left their trace, Of graver care and deeper thought; And unto me the calm, cold face Of manhood, and to thee the grace Of woman's pensive beauty brought. 50 More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, The school boy's humble name has flown; Thine, in the green and quiet ways Of unobtrusive goodness known. And wider yet in thought and deed Diverge our pathways, one in youth; Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, While answers to my spirit's need The Derby dalesman's simple truth. For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, And holy day, and solemn psalm; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather, slow and calm. Yet hath thy spirit left on me An impress Time has worn not out, And something of myself in thee, A shadow from the past, I see, 60 70 Lingering, even yet, thy way about; Not wholly can the heart unlearn That lesson of its better hours, Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn To common dust that path of flowers. Thus, while at times before our eyes The shadows melt, and fall apart, And, smiling through them, round us lies The warm light of our morning skies,--The Indian Summer of the heart! In secret sympathies of mind, In founts of feeling which retain Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find 8 Our early dreams not wholly vain! |