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A TRUE BALLAD.
A GLORIOUS land is this of ours,
A land of liberty! Through all the wide earth's bounds you 'll find
None else so truly free!
Go north or south, or east or west,
Wherever you may roam, There's not a land like this of ours,
The stranger's refuge home!
And yet methinks it were but well,
The tale might not be told,
Are human sinews sold.
And when we boast that o'er our soil
No tyrants footstep treads, 'T were well if we could hide the blood,
The red scourge daily sheds. Yet still is ours a glorious land !
Our shouts rise wild and highI would such tales as I have heard,
Might give them not the lie. It was a mournful mother, sat
Within the prison walls ; And bitterly adown her cheek
The scalding tear-drop falls.
Amidst her infants three;
She might not hope to flee.
And when a footstep came,
Went o'er her quivering frame.
It was not for the dungeon's chill,
Nor for the gloom it wore,
Her frighted bosom tore.
For though in prison cell she lay,
In freedom's happy clime,
They charged her not with crime;
Twas that she wore a dusky brow,
She lay within that hold,
Were chaffer'd off for gold.
Sold with her babes—all, one by one,
Forever torn apart-
Around her broken heart.
Yet still is ours a glorious land !
Raise pæans loud and high,
Our country's liberty.
Her husband was a freeman good,
He lived in Maryland ;
His broken marriage band.
He loved her when they both were young
And though she was a slave,
Changeless affection gave.
And when their prattling infants smiled,
Upon his cottage floor,
His daily toil he bore.
But woe for him, and woe for her!
Her children all were slaves ; Less grief their parents' hearts had borne, To weep above their
graves. For still as one by one they grew
To childhood's franksome years, They one by one were torn away
To bondage and to tears.Torn far away to distant scenes,
Like green leaves from their stem ; And never to their horne, bereaved,
Came tidings more of them.
No deeper grief to bear;
In agonized despair.
All other lands above,
Those sacred cords of love.
THY THUNDER PEALETH O'ER US.
God of the earth and sky!
The clouds roll dark and high.
Those flashing bolts are hurld,
A proud and guilty world.
The storm o'ermounts the sky,
Beneath its scowling eye.
Behind its steps more radiantly
The deep blue heavens will shine, And the glad earth, rejoicing,
Pour forth her corn and wine.
But oh, there lieth brooding,
A cloud more dark and dread,
In fearful portent spread!
Though broad our frightful borders
All smilingly expand,
And on our pleasant land.
For we have sinn'd before thee,
And caused dark floods to roll,
Across our brother's soul.
But let not yet thine anger
Consume our blood-stain'd sod; Extend a little longer
Thy mercy, oh our God!
And touch our flinty bosoms
With thy dissolving grace,
weep before thy face.
How very beautiful The creatures of this earth can sometimes be! Aline was one of such ; the summer rose Hath not a petal fairer than her cheek, Nor hath the light of the out-breaking sun More radiant gladness than her beaming smile. Her heart was full of gushing happiness.
In after years
The common air—the unfolding of a flower
Aline. Her face was lovely yet, but wore not all The bloom of its young freshness; and the light, That made its glance a gladness, was not there. A childish group was round, filling the room With their sweet laughter; and a bright-eyed girl, Who look'd Aline restored to youth again, Held to his mother's cheek the baby lips Of a young brother, crowing in his joy, As she laugh'd back to him.
Aline went forth Amidst her servants; and her voice arose Shrilly and harsh, and they shrunk back in dread From her stern eye. The keen and cruel scourge Was busy at her bidding; and the limbs Of woman bled before her, and the shriek Of childhood rose unheeded.
Then came one, Whose traffic was in human forms; whose wealth Was gather'd from the blood of breaking hearts, And the stern rending of the holiest ties That bless man's nature. For a price of gold, Her husband sold to him the only son Of a fond mother's love, and from the arms Of conjugal affection, a sad wife, With all her weeping babes—and she stood byThat once compassionate girl—without a tear ; Seeing their misery, yet speaking not One word to save them. She who once,