Sonnet to Harriet Beecher Stowe.
O Lady! heiress to a living fame,
Most loving, pious, pure, and true of heart,
Whose mighty pen hath made the whole world start
Aghast and wond’ring that the blighting shame
Of slavery should blot the earth; and claim
Her advocates in men, who to the mart
Drag on their fellows, groning ’neath the smart
Of blasted hopes, divided loves, and aim
Their manhood to crush out, and bow them down
Like soul-less brutes by torture and the lash!
Oh! noble is thine end! and may God crown
The work with rich success, and swiftly dash
Such yokes in twain, till men shout “Victory!
A Jubilee on earth! all slaves are free!”