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7s & 6s. Mrs. COLBURN. 1 Hark! hark! the clank of fetters,
From shady grove and dell ;
In mortal combat fell !
Where Liberty's proud altars,
Of liberty and light,
Deprived of law and right?
For Europe's sons to share,-
Her own the chain must wear ! 3 Say, is that voice of wailing,
That undissembled cry-
Unworthy a reply?
Their dread of slavery's curse,
Unheeded be by us?
Mrs. Price. 1 I PITY the slave mother, care-worn and weary, Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast; I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary, I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed.
O, who can imagine her heart's deep emotion,
2 The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom, That ever has bloomed on her path-way below; It has frozen each fountain that gushed in her
bosom, And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe. Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression; Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay ; No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggressionShe must weep as she treads on her desolate way.
3 0, who will pour balm o'er her cup full of sorrow? Where, where is the hand that is stretched out to save ?
[row, Dawns not for that slave mother one happy morEre she lays herself down in a merciless grave? O, slave-mother! is there no vision of gladness, In the far-coming future, to light up thy sky? Is there nothing for thee but hard toiling and
sadnessNo repose for thy form but to lie down and die?
40, slave-mother, hope; see, the nation is shaking ! The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong! The slaveholder's heart now with terror is quak
ingSalvation and mercy to heaven belong ! Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing, May one day lift up its unmanacled form, (ing, While hope to thy heart, like the rainbow so cheerIs born, like the rainbow, midst tempest and storm.
1 In sweet southern vales where the orange trees blossom,
[plain; Where fragrance and sun-light are poured o'er the Where blessings are strew'd that might cheer ev'ry And beauty is lavished to banish all pain, [bosom, Dark stains of oppression dim ev'ry fair flower, And sighs of the weary are heard in each bower, While
groans of affliction mark ev'ry sad hour That passes away in the land of the slave!
2 Affections are trampled,and manhood is blighted, And woman's tears mingle with childhood's dis
tress ; The warnings of heaven are constantly slighted, And hated the hand that his brother would bless : O why comes the Spring to that blood-stained
plantation ? Why streams the rich sun-light o'er man's degra
dation ? Why is mercy held out to this sin-harden'd nation, That crushes God's image so low in the dust ? 3 But not on the whirlwind, with sword all upraised, Will our Father in Heaven make bare his strong arm;
(praised, With love will he come, while that power be it Will conquer the tyrant and rescue frum harm : The bondinan, the freeman will raise their glad
voices, While the North claps her hands and triumphant
rejoices, As the anthem of Freedom, with myriads of voices, Shall burst in the chorus of transport and praise !
C. M. Mrs. COLBURN. 1 SHALL suff'ring bondmen be forgot,
Their sorrows and their tears?
Their griefs and many fears ?
Be never brought to mind?
The aching limbs confined ?
When life is fair and bright;
In sorrow's gath’ring night.
And all their suffering share ;
We'll plead their cause in prayer.
P. M. J. HUTCHINSON. 1 0, deep was the anguish of the slave mother's
heart, When called from her darling for ever to part ; So grieved that lone mother, that heart-broken mother,
In sorrow and woe.
2 The harsh auctioneer, to sympathy cold, 'Tears the babe from its mother and sells it for gold; While the infant and mother loud shriek for each other,
In sorrow and woe.
3 The child was borne off to a far distant clime, While the mother was left in anguish to pine; But reason departed, and she sank broken-hearted,
In sorrow and woe. 4 O list, ye kind mothers, to the cries of the slave; The parents and children implore you to save ; Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters and brothers,
From sorrow and woe.
E. Wright JR. 1 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 ? 2 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 ? 3 Where human law o’errules divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
And where they suffer, who can tell ? 'The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back? 4 I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,
Around its free, though humble hearth.