O, could ye have seen her--that pride of our girls-- Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, With scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel:
“Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold! Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear!
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_!”
Fling out the Anti-slavery flag On every swelling breeze; And let its folds wave o’er the land, And o’er the raging seas, Till all beneath the standard sheet, With new allegiance bow; And pledge themselves to onward bear The emblem of their vow.
Fling out the Anti-slavery flag, And let it onward wave Till it shall float o’er every clime, And liberate the slave; Till, like a meteor flashing far, It bursts with glorious light, And with its Heaven-born rays dispels The gloom of sorrow’s night.
Fling out the Anti-slavery flag, And let it not be furled, Till like a planet of the skies, It sweeps around the world. And when each poor degraded slave, Is gathered near and far; O, fix it on the azure arch, As hope’s eternal star.
Fling out the Anti-slavery flag, Forever let it be The emblem to a holy cause, The banner of the free. And never from its guardian height, Let it by man be driven, But let it float forever there, Beneath the smiles of heaven.
“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?