Where shackles must fall from the limbs of the Slave,
Where freedom’s proud eagle screams wild thro’ the sky,
And the sweet mountain-birds in glad notes reply.
I’ll flee to New England, where the fugitive finds
A home ’mid her mountains and deep forest winds,
And her hill-tops shall ring out the wrongs done to me,
Till responsive they sing, “Let the bondman go free.”
Till responsive they sing, “Let the bondman go free.”
New England! New England! thrice blessed and free,
The poor hunted slave finds a shelter in thee,