XXIII.
’Twas when the land was struggling to break free From Slavery’s fetter and provincial ban, Whilst a great people dreaded liberty,— That the dire conflict of thine age began. Thy voice rang clear o’er selfish sect and clan; Nor politician’s, priest’s, nor tradesman’s plea Did aught avail to quench, but more to fan The flame that must consume all slavery,— The serf then franchised and proclaimed a man. Long wast thou heard amid the scoff and scorn Of voices potent in thy city dear; Steadfast didst face the storm, with heart of cheer, And prove thyself the freeman nobly born, Preacher of righteousness, of saints the peer.
“Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.” Milton.
XXIV.
Bold Saint, thou firm believer in the Cross, Again made glorious by self-sacrifice,— Love’s free atonement given without love’s loss,— That martyrdom to thee was lighter pain, Since thus a race its liberties should gain; Flash its sure consequence in Slavery’s eyes When, ’scaping sabre’s clash and battle’s smoke, She felt the justice of thy master-stroke: Peaceful prosperity around us lies, Freedom with loyalty thy valor gave; Whilst thou, no felon doomed, for gallows fit, O Patriot true! O Christian meek and brave! Throned in the martyrs’ seat henceforth shalt sit; Prophet of God! Messias of the Slave!
“O my brethren! I have told Most bitter truth, but without bitterness, Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed; For never can true courage dwell with them Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look At their own vices.” Coleridge.
XXV.
Nobly censorious of our transient age, Hating oppressors in thy love of man, Thou didst stride forward on the public stage With the bold liberators to the van, Scourging delinquents with a lofty rage. Iconoclast, who ’gainst foul idols ran, Tumbling false gods from their wide-worshipped shrine, To throne therein the human and divine. Charged was thy soul with vehement eloquence, Strenuous with ample reason’s manly art; Thy prayers were fervent, void of all pretence, Wrath yielded place to pity in thy heart; Eagerly of all learning mad’st thou spoil, Before thy lamp, extinguished, spent its oil.
“There’s not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee: thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.” Wordsworth.
XXVI.