Let associations of singers, having the love of liberty in their hearts, be immediately formed in every community. Let them study thoroughly, and make themselves perfectly familiar with both the poetry and the music, and enter into the _sentiment_ of the piece they perform, that they may _impress it_ upon their hearers. Above all things, let the enunciation of every word be _clear_ and _distinct_. Most of the singing of the present day, is entirely too artificial, stiff and mechanical. It should be easy and natural; flowing directly from the soul of the performer, without affectation or display; and then singing will answer its true end, and not only please the _ear_, but affect and improve the _heart_.
To the true friends of universal freedom, the LIBERTY MINSTREL is respectfully dedicated.
Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings, Where the fever demon strews Poison with the falling dews, Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air, Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters, Woe is me my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, There no mother's eye is near them, There no mother's ear can hear them; Never when the torturing lash Seams their back with many a gash, Shall a mother's kindness bless them, Or a mother's arms caress them. Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters, Woe is me my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, From the fields at night they go, Faint with toil, and rack'd with pain, To their cheerless homes again-- There no brother's voice shall greet them-- There no father's welcome meet them.--_Gone, &c._
Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From the tree whose shadow lay On their childhood's place of play-- From the cool spring where they drank-- Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank-- From the solemn house of prayer, And the holy counsels there.--_Gone, &c._
Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Toiling through the weary day, And at night the Spoiler's prey; Oh, that they had earlier died, Sleeping calmly, side by side, Where the tyrant's power is o'er, And the fetter galls no more!--_Gone, &c._