in its silken bands
    I wander here, to this fair spot they call
    Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold
    Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh;
    Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere,
    And feel thou art not dead, but living there. 
    It is not thou that fills this spot of earth,
    It is not thou o’er whom these branches wave,
    These blooming roses only mark the spot
    Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear
    Amid immortal scenes. 
    Thou livest yet! 
    Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven;
    Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use;
    Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord;
    Thy ears have listened to that song of praise
    Which angels utter, and which God accepts.

THE FUGITIVES.

    They had escaped the galling chain and fetters,
        Had gained the freedom which they long had sought,
    And lived like men-in righteous deeds abettors,
        Loving the truth which God to them had taught
    Some at the plough had labored late and early;
        And some ascended Learning’s glorious mount;
    And some in Art had brought forth treasures pearly,
        Which future history might with joy recount
    As gems wrought out by hands which God made free,
    But man had sworn should chained and fettered be. 
    They lived in peace, in quietness, and aided
        In deeds of charity-in acts of love;
    Nor cared though evil men their works upbraided,
        While conscience whispered of rewards above. 
    And they had wives to love, children who waited
        At eve to hear the father’s homeward tread,
    And clasped the hand,—­or else, with joy elated,
        Sounding his coming, to their mother sped. 
    Thus days and years passed by, and hope was bright,
    Nor dreamed they of a dark and gloomy night. 
    Men came empowered, with handcuffs and with warrants,
        And, entering homes, tore from their warm embrace
    Husbands and fathers, and in copious torrents
        Poured forth invective on our northern race,
    And done all “lawfully;” because ’t was voted
        By certain men, who, when they had the might,
    Fostered plans on which their passions doted,
        Despite of reason and God’s law of right;
    And, bartering liberties, the truth dissembled,
    While Freedom’s votaries yielded as they trembled. 
    Shall we look on and bear the insult given? 
        O, worse than “insult” is it to be chained,
    To have the fetters on thy free limbs riven,
        When once the prize of Freedom has been gained. 
    No! by the granite pointing high above us,
        By Concord, Lexington, and, Faneuil Hall,
    By all these sacred spots, by those who love us,
        We pledge to-day our hate of Slavery’s thrall;
    And give to man, whoever he may be,
    The power we have to make and keep him free.