Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/315

Rh O’er Massachusetts’ rocks of gray
 * The strengthening light of freedom shines,

Rhode Island’s Narragansett Bay,
 * And Vermont’s snow-hung pines!

From Hudson’s frowning palisades
 * To Alleghany’s laurelled crest,

O’er lakes and prairies, streams and glades,
 * It shines upon the West.

Speed on the light to those who dwell
 * In Slavery’s land of woe and sin,

And through the blackness of that Hell
 * Let Heaven’s own light break in.

So shall the Southern conscience quake
 * Before that light poured full and strong,

So shall the Southern heart awake
 * To all the bondman’s wrong.

And from that rich and sunny land
 * The song of grateful millions rise,

Like that of Israel’s ransomed band
 * Beneath Arabia’s skies:

And all who now are bound beneath
 * Our banner’s shade, our eagle’s wing,

From Slavery’s night of moral death
 * To light and life shall spring.

Broken the bondman’s chain, and gone
 * The master’s guilt, and hate, and fear,

And unto both alike shall dawn
 * A New and Happy Year.

of friendship true and tried,
 * From one whose fiery heart of youth

With mine has beaten, side by side,
 * For Liberty and Truth;

With honest pride the gift I take, And prize it for the giver’s sake.

But not alone because it tells
 * Of generous hand and heart sincere;

Around that gift of friendship dwells
 * A memory doubly dear;

Earth’s noblest aim, man’s holiest thought, With that memorial frail inwrought!

Pure thoughts and sweet like flowers unfold,
 * And precious memories round it cling,

Even as the Prophet’s rod of old
 * In beauty blossoming:

And buds of feeling, pure and good, Spring from its cold unconscious wood.

Relic of Freedom’s shrine! a brand
 * Plucked from its burning! let it be

Dear as a jewel from the hand
 * Of a lost friend to me!

Flower of a perished garland left, Of life and beauty unbereft!

Oh, if the young enthusiast bears,
 * O’er weary waste and sea, the stone

Which crumbled from the Forum’s stairs,
 * Or round the Parthenon;

Or olive-bough from some wild tree Hung over old Thermopylæ:

If leaflets from some hero’s tomb,
 * Or moss-wreath torn from ruins hoary;

Or faded flowers whose sisters bloom
 * On fields renowned in story;

Or fragment from the Alhambra’s crest, Or the gray rock by Druids blessed;

Sad Erin’s shamrock greenly growing
 * Where Freedom led her stalwart kern,

Or Scotia’s “rough bur thistle” blowing
 * On Bruce’s Bannockburn;

Or Runnymede’s wild English rose, Or lichen plucked from Sempach’s snows!

If it be true that things like these
 * To heart and eye bright visions bring,

Shall not far holier memories
 * To this memorial cling?

Which needs no mellowing mist of time To hide the crimson stains of crime!

Wreck of a temple, unprofaned;
 * Of courts where Peace with Freedom trod

Lifting on high, with hands unstained,
 * Thanksgiving unto God;

Where Mercy’s voice of love was pleading For human hearts in bondage bleeding!

Where, midst the sound of rushing feet
 * And curses on the night-air flung,

That pleading voice rose calm and sweet
 * From woman’s earnest tongue;

And Riot turned his scowling glance, Awed, from her tranquil countenance!