Part 2

"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours, And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers; But, dearer the blast round our mountains which raves, Than the sweet sunny zephyr which breathes over slaves!

"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel, With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel; Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be In _fetters_ with _them_, than in freedom with _thee!_"

From Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.

JEFFERSON'S DAUGHTER.

"It is asserted, on the authority of an American Newspaper, that the daughter of Thomas Jefferson, late President of the United States, was sold at New Orleans for $1,000."--Morning Chronicle.

Can the blood that, at Lexington, poured o'er the plain, When the sons warred with tyrants their rights to uphold, Can the tide of Niagara wipe out the stain? No! Jefferson's child has been bartered for gold!

Do you boast of your freedom? Peace, babblers--be still; Prate not of the goddess who scarce deigns to hear; Have ye power to unbind? Are ye wanting in will? Must the groans of your bondman still torture the ear?

The daughter of Jefferson sold for a slave! The child of a freeman for dollars and francs! The roar of applause, when your orators rave, Is lost in the sound of her chain, as it clanks.

Peace, then, ye blasphemers of Liberty's name! Though red was the blood by your forefathers spilt, Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame, Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.

But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin, Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath; While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within, And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.

Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise? Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,-- Unheeding the clamor that "maddens the skies," As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men?

When the incense that glows before Liberty's shrine, Is unmixed with the blood of the galled and oppressed, O, then, and then only, the boast may be thine, That the stripes and stars wave o'er a land of the blest.

THE SLAVE-AUCTION--A FACT.

Why stands she near the auction stand, That girl so young and fair; What brings her to this dismal place, Why stands she weeping there?

Why does she raise that bitter cry? Why hangs her head with shame, As now the auctioneer's rough voice, So rudely calls her name?

But see! she grasps a manly hand, And in a voice so low, As scarcely to be heard, she says, 'My brother, must I go?'

A moment's pause: then midst a wail Of agonizing woe, His answer falls upon the ear, 'Yes, sister, you must go!'

'No longer can my arm defend, No longer can I save My sister from the horrid fate That waits her as a SLAVE!'

Ah! now I know why she is there, She came there to be sold! That lovely form, that noble mind, Must be exchanged for gold!

O God! my every heart-string cries, Dost thou these scenes behold In this our boasted Christian land, And must the truth be told?

Blush, Christian, blush! for e'en the dark Untutored heathen see Thy inconsistency, and lo! They scorn thy God, and thee!

GET OFF THE TRACK.

Air--Dan Tucker.

Ho! the car Emancipation Rides majestic thro' our nation, Bearing on its train the story, Liberty! a nation's glory. Roll it along, thro' the nation, Freedom's car, Emancipation!

First of all the train, and greater, Speeds the dauntless Liberator, Onward cheered amid hosannas, And the waving of free banners. Roll it along! spread your banners, While the people shout hosannas.

Men of various predilections, Frightened, run in all directions; Merchants, editors, physicians, Lawyers, priests, and politicians. Get out of the way! every station! Clear the track of 'mancipation!

Let the ministers and churches Leave behind sectarian lurches; Jump on board the car of Freedom, Ere it be too late to need them. Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder! Ere too late you see your blunder!

Politicians gazed, astounded, When, at first, our bell resounded; _Freight trains_ are coming, tell these foxes, With our _votes_ and _ballot boxes_. Jump for your lives! politicians, From your dangerous, false positions.

All true friends of Emancipation, Haste to Freedom's railroad station; Quick into the cars get seated, All is ready and completed. Put on the steam! all are crying, And the liberty flags are flying.

Now again the bell is tolling, Soon you'll see the car-wheels rolling; Hinder not their destination, Chartered for Emancipation. Wood up the fire! keep it flashing, While the train goes onward dashing.

Hear the mighty car-wheels humming! Now look out! _the Engine's coming!_ Church and statesmen! hear the thunder! Clear the track or you'll fall under. Get off the track! all are singing, While the _Liberty bell_ is ringing.

On, triumphant see them bearing, Through sectarian rubbish tearing; The bell and whistle and the steaming, Startle thousands from their dreaming. Look out for the cars while the bell rings! Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.

See the people run to meet us; At the depots thousands greet us; All take seats with exultation, In the Car Emancipation. Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation Soon will bless our happy nation, Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!

BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.

The storm-winds wildly blowing, The bursting billows mock, As with their foam-crests glowing, They dash the sea-girt rock; Amid the wild commotion, The revel of the sea, A voice is on the ocean, Be free, O man, be free.

Behold the sea-brine leaping High in the murky air; List to the tempest sweeping In chainless fury there. What moves the mighty torrent, And bids it flow abroad? Or turns the rapid current? What, but the voice of God?

Then, answer, is the spirit Less noble or less free? From whom does it inherit The doom of slavery? When man can bind the waters, That they no longer roll, Then let him forge the fetters To clog the human soul.

Till then a voice is stealing From earth and sea and sky, And to the soul revealing Its immortality. The swift wind chants the numbers Careering o'er the sea, And earth, aroused from slumbers, Re-echoes, "Man, be free."

THE FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

The fetters galled my weary soul-- A soul that seemed but thrown away; I spurned the tyrant's base control, Resolved at last the man to play:-- The hounds are baying on my track; O Christian! will you send me back?

I felt the stripes, the lash I saw, Red, dripping with a father's gore; And worst of all their lawless law, The insults that my mother bore! The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

Where human law o'errules Divine, Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell My wife and babes,--I call them mine,-- And where they suffer, who can tell? The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

I seek a home where man is man, If such there be upon this earth, To draw my kindred, if I can, Around its free, though humble hearth. The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

RESCUE THE SLAVE!

AIR--The Troubadour.

This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.

Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell, Listen awhile to the story we tell; Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave, Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.

Praying for liberty, dearer than life, Torn from his little one, torn from his wife, Flying from slavery, hear him and save, Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.

Think of his agony, feel for his pain, Should his hard master e'er hold him again; Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave, Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.

Freely the slave master goes where he will; Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil, Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave, Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.

Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead; See the slave master's whip over our head; Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves, Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.

Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late; Slavery is knocking, at every gate, Make good the promise, your early days gave, Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.

THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S ADDRESS TO THE NORTH STAR.

Star of the North! Thou art not bigger Than is the diamond in my ring; Yet, every black, star-gazing nigger Looks at thee, as at some great thing! Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy And thankless rascal is half crazy.

Some Abolitionist has told them, That, if they take their flight toward thee, They'll get where "massa" cannot hold them, And therefore to the North they flee. Fools to be led off, where they can't earn Their living, by thy lying lantern.

We will to New England write, And tell them not to let thee shine (Excepting of a cloudy night) Anywhere south of Dixon's line; If beyond that thou shine an inch, We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch.

And when, thou Abolition star, Who preachest Freedom in all weathers, Thou hast got on thy coat of tar, And over that, a cloak of feathers, Thou art "fixed" none will deny, If there's a fixed star in the sky.

SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.

This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs, when parting from friends for the far off South--children taken from parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.

See these poor souls from Africa, Transported to America: We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me? We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.

See wives and husbands sold apart, The children's screams!--it breaks my heart; There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me? There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

O, gracious Lord? when shall it be, That we poor souls shall all be free? Lord, break them Slavery powers--will you go along with me? Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.

Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease, Then we poor souls can have our peace; There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me? There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

ZAZA--THE FEMALE SLAVE.

O, my country, my country! How long I for thee, Far over the mountain, Far over the sea. Where the sweet Joliba, Kisses the shore, Say, shall I wander By thee never more? Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore, Say, shall I wander by thee never more.

Say, O fond Zurima, Where dost thou stay? Say, doth another List to thy sweet lay? Say, doth the orange still Bloom near our cot? Zurima, Zurima, Am I forgot? O, my country, my country, how long I for thee, Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

Under the baobab Oft have I slept, Fanned by sweet breezes That over me swept. Often in dreams Do my weary limbs lay 'Neath the same baobab, Far, far away. O, my country, my country, how long I for thee, Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

O, for the breath Of our own waving palm, Here, as I languish, My spirit to calm-- O, for a draught From our own cooling lake, Brought by sweet mother, My spirit to wake. O, my country, my country, how long I for thee, Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

YE HERALDS OF FREEDOM.

Ye heralds of freedom, ye noble and brave, Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave, Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God, And he will soon sever the oppressor's strong rod.

The finger of slander may now at you point, That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint; And those who now plead for the rights of the slave, Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.

Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers, May now all oppose you, the victory is yours; The banner of Jesus will soon be unfurled, And he will give freedom and peace to the world.

Go under his standard and fight by his side, O'er mountains and billows you'll then safely ride; His gracious protection will be to you given, And bright crowns of glory he'll give you in heaven.

WE'RE COMING! WE'RE COMING.

AIR--Kinloch of Kinloch.

We're coming, we're coming, the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea! True sons of brave sires who battled of yore, When England's proud lion ran wild on our shore! We're coming, we're coming, from mountain and glen, With hearts to do battle for freedom again; Oppression is trembling as trembled before The slavery which fled from our fathers of yore.

We're coming, we're coming, with banners unfurled, Our motto is FREEDOM, our country the world; Our watchword is LIBERTY--tyrants beware! For the liberty army will bring you despair! We're coming, we're coming, we'll come from afar, Our standard we'll nail to humanity's car; With shoutings we'll raise it, in triumph to wave, A trophy of conquest, or shroud for the brave.

Then arouse ye, brave hearts, to the rescue come on! The man-stealing army we'll surely put down; They are crushing their millions, but soon they must yield, For _freemen_ have _risen_ and taken the field. Then arouse ye! arouse ye! the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea; Let the north, west, and east, to the sea-beaten shore, _Resound_ with a _liberty triumph_ once more.

ON TO VICTORY.

AIR--Scots wha hae.

Children of the glorious dead, Who for freedom fought and bled, With her banner o'er you spread, On to victory. Not for stern ambition's prize, Do our hopes and wishes rise; Lo, our leader from the skies, Bids us do or die.

Ours is not the tented field-- We no earthly weapons wield-- Light and love, our sword and shield, Truth our panoply. This is proud oppression's hour; Storms are round us; shall we cower? While beneath a despot's power Groans the suffering slave?

While on every southern gale, Comes the helpless captive's tale, And the voice of woman's wail, And of man's despair? While our homes and rights are dear, Guarded still with watchful fear, Shall we coldly turn our ear From the suppliant's prayer?

Never! by our Country's shame-- Never! by a Saviour's claim, To the men of every name, Whom he died to save. Onward, then, ye fearless band-- Heart to heart, and hand to hand; Yours shall be the patriot's stand, Or the martyr's grave.

THE MAN FOR ME.

AIR--The Rose that all are praising.

O, he is not the man for me, Who buys or sells a slave, Nor he who will not set him free, But sends him to his grave; But he whose noble heart beats warm For all men's life and liberty; Who loves alike each human form, O, that's the man for me.

He's not at all the man for me, Who sells a man for gain, Who bends the pliant servile knee, To Slavery's god of shame! But he whose God-like form erect Proclaims that all alike are free To think, and speak, and vote, and act, O, that's the man for me.

He sure is not the man for me Whose spirit will succumb, When men endowed with Liberty Lie bleeding, bound and dumb; But he whose faithful words of might Ring through the land from shore to sea, For man's eternal equal right, O, that's the man for me.

No, no, he's not the man for me Whose voice o'er hill and plain, Breaks forth for glorious liberty, But binds himself, the chain! The mightiest of the noble band Who prays and toils the world to free, With head, and heart, and voice, and vote, O, that's the man for me.

THE BONDMAN.

AIR--Troubadour.

Feebly the bondman toiled, Sadly he wept-- Then to his wretched cot Mournfully crept; How doth his free-born soul Pine 'neath his chain! Slavery! Slavery! Dark is thy reign.

Long ere the break of day, Roused from repose, Wearily toiling Till after its close-- Praying for freedom, He spends his last breath: Liberty! Liberty! Give me or death.

When, when, O Lord! will right Triumph o'er wrong? Tyrants oppress the weak, O Lord! how long? Hark! hark! a peal resounds From shore to shore-- Tyranny! Tyranny! Thy reign is o'er.

E'en now the morning Gleams from the East-- Despots are feeling Their triumph is past-- Strong hearts are answering To freedom's loud call-- Liberty! Liberty! Full and for all.

RIGHT ON.

AIR--Lenox.

Ho! children of the brave, Ho! freemen of the land, That hurl'd into the grave Oppression's bloody band; Come on, come on, and joined be we To make the fettered bondman free.

Let coward vassals sneak From freedom's battle still, Poltroons that dare not speak But as their priests may will; Come on, come on, and joined be we To make the fettered bondman free.

On parchment, scroll and creed, With human life blood red, Untrembling at the deed, Plant firm your manly tread; The priest may howl, the jurist rave, But we will free the fettered slave.

The tyrant's scorn is vain, In vain the slanderer's breath, We'll rush to break the chain, E'en on the jaws of death; Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we, The fettered slave shall yet be free.

Right on, in freedom's name, And in the strength of God, Wipe out the damning stain, And break the oppressor's rod; Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we, The fettered slave shall yet be free.

FUGITIVE'S TRIUMPH.

Go, go, thou that enslav'st me, Now, now thy power is o'er; Long, long have I obeyed thee, I'm not a slave any more; No, no--oh, no! I'm a _free man_ ever more!

Thou, thou brought'st me ever, Deep, deep sorrow and pain; But I have left thee forever, Nor will I serve thee again; No, no--oh, no! No, I'll not serve thee again.

Tyrant! thou hast bereft me Home, friends, pleasures so sweet; Now, forever I've left thee, Thou and I never shall meet; No, no--oh, no! Thou and I never shall meet.

Joys, joys, bright as the morning, Now, now, on me will pour, Hope, hope, on me is dawning, _I'm not a slave any more!_ No, no--oh, no, I'm a FREE MAN evermore!

A SONG FOR FREEDOM.

AIR--Dandy Jim.

Come all ye bondmen far and near, Let's put a song in massa's ear, It is a song for our poor race, Who're whipped and trampled with disgrace.

Chorus. My old massa tells me O This is a land of freedom O; Let's look about and see if't is so, Just as massa tells me O.

He tells us of that glorious one, I think his name was Washington, How he did fight for liberty, To save a threepence tax on tea.

Chorus. My old massa, &c.

And then he tells us that there was A Constitution, with this clause, That all men equal were created, How often have we heard it stated.

Chorus. My old massa, &c.

But now we look about and see, That we poor blacks are not so free; We 're whipped and thrashed about like fools, And have no chance at common schools.

Chorus. Still, my old massa, &c.

They take our wives, insult and mock, And sell our children on the block, Then choke us if we say a word, And say that "niggers" shan't be heard.

Chorus. Still, my old massa, &c.

Our preachers, too, with whip and cord, Command obedience in the Lord; They say they learn it from the book, But for ourselves we dare not look.

Chorus. Still, my old massa tells me O, This is a _Christian_ country O, &c.

There is a country far away, Friend Hopper says 't is Canada, And if we reach Victoria's shore, He says that we are slaves no more.

Chorus. Now hasten all bondmen, let us go And leave this Christian country O; Haste to the land of the British Queen, Where whips for negroes are not seen.

Now if we go, we must take the night-- We're sure to die if we come in sight-- The blood-hounds will be on our track, And wo to us if they fetch us back.

Chorus. Now haste all bondmen, let us go, And leave this _Christian_ country O; God help us to Victoria's shore, Where we are free and slaves no more.

FREEDOM'S BANNER.

AIR--Freedom's Banner.

My country, shall thy honored name, Be as a by-word through the world? Rouse! for as if to blast thy fame, This keen reproach is at thee hurled; The banner that above thee waves, Is floating over three millions slaves.

That flag, my country, I had thought, From noble sires was given to thee, By the best blood of patriots bought, To wave alone above the Free! Yet now, while to the breeze it waves, It floats above three millions slaves,

The mighty dead that flag unrolled, They bathed it in the heaven's own blue; They sprinkled stars upon each fold, And gave it as a trust to you; And now that glorious banner waves In shame above three millions slaves.

O, by the virtues of our sires, And by the soil on which they trod, And by the trust their name inspires, And by the hope we have in God, Arouse, my country, and agree To set thy captive children free.

Arouse! and let each hill and glen With prayer to the high heavens ring out, Till all our land with freeborn men, May join in one triumphant shout, That freedom's banner does not wave Its folds above a single slave.

YOUR BROTHER IS A SLAVE.

O weep, ye friends of Freedom, weep! Shout liberty no more; Your harps to mournful measures sweep, Till slavery's reign is o'er. O, furl your star-lit thing of light-- That banner should not wave Where, vainly pleading for his right, Your Brother toils--_a Slave!_

O pray, ye friends of Freedom, pray For those who toil in chains, Who lift their fettered hands to day On Carolina's plain! God is the hope of the Oppressed; His arm is strong to save; Pray, then, that freedom's cause be blest, Your Brother is _a Slave!_

O toil, ye friends of Freedom, toil! Your mission to fulfil,-- That Freedom's consecrated soil Slaves may no longer till; Ay, toil and pray from deep disgrace Your native land to save; Weep o'er the miseries of your race, _Your Brother is a Slave!_

COME JOIN THE ABOLITIONISTS.

AIR--When I can read my title clear.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye young men bold and strong. And with a warm and cheerful zeal, Come help the cause along; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more. 'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye men of riper years, And save your wives and children dear, From grief and bitter tears; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more, 'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye dames and maidens fair, And breathe around us in our path Affection's hallowed air; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when woman cheers us on, When woman cheers us on, to conquests not yet won. 'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring, When woman cheers us on.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye sons and daughters all Of this our own America-- Come at the friendly call; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when all shall proudly say, This, this is Freedom's day--Oppression flee away! 'T is then we'll sing, and offerings bring, When freedom wins the day.

THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING.

There's a good time coming boys, A good time coming; There's a good time coming boys, Wait a little longer. We may not live to see the day, But earth shall glisten in the ray Of the good time coming; Cannon balls may aid the truth, But thought's a weapon stronger; We'll win our battle by its aid, Wait a little longer. O, there's a good time, &c.

There's a good time coming boys, A good time coming; The pen shall supersede the sword, And right, not might shall be the lord, In the good time coming. Worth, not birth shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger, The proper impulse has been given, Wait a little longer. O, there's a good time, &c.