The New Hampshire Gazette

From the Washington Spectator.

WASHINGTON, April 1, 1844.

MR. EDITOR: I read an effusion of wrath, written in most excellent poetry, copied from the Boston Atlas into your paper of last Saturday. I should hardly have supposed John G. Whittier, quaker as he is, even if he felt the foul fiend within him, would have let him so far overcome his manhood and patriotism, (if he has any,) as to have brought forth such a production.

I, too, am a Yankee, and I thank God my country and her Constitution are dear to my heart. I could not but make an attempt to send forth an antidote to the infernal bane of Mr. Whittier. Such as it is, you have it below.

Rouse! Freemen, rouse! "and buckle on your mail of proof sublime,
"Your stern old hate of "crowned heads," your deep contempt of crime;
"A traitor plot is hatching now, more full of woe and shame,
"Than ever from the iron heart of bloodiest despot came.

This Union, moulded by our sires, so glorious in its birth,
Hailed as the home of Liberty, throughout the peopled earth,
A reckless band of maniac men are plotting to o'erthrow!
Swear, by the blood your fathers shed, ye will avert the blow!

'Tis time to wake! when chartered rights are trampled rudely o'er!
When the old Federal battle cry—"DISUNION"—peals once more;
When frenzied hands, careless of life and of their country's good,
Would strike all fetters from the slave, and steep our soil in blood!

When the dread picture (bathed in gore, of what our land will be,
When our pierced eagle screams, in death, the knell of liberty.)
Was drawn within your pillared hall, beneath your fretted dome,
Who shuddered not, to hear one voice exult, with "let it come!"*

And as again from those old lips, the dreadful sentence fell,
"Oh what a grin of fiendish glee ran round and round through hell,"
And while the infernal mirth arose to Heaven, in gibberish wild,
A sainted father's sacred shade wept o'er his recreant child!

If, Texas, thy bright star shall blaze and glow among our own,
If Freedom's altar thou shalt choose, nor bow at England's throne,
Is there one heart, one Yankee heart, that beats in freedom's home,
That will respond the impious words—"destruction, let it come?"

It must not come! though all the South should to our Union yield,
And though our flag a thousand Stars should bear within its field,
The thirteen stripes—the old thirteen! shall glow as brightly still,
As when unfurled at Lexington, or glorious Bunker hill!

It shall not come! though Faneuil Hall should send the treason forth,
Engendered in its sacred walls by traitors at the north,
New England virtue will remain, firm as New England's rock,
For treason will not, cannot, grow on that old parent stock!

The stern bold men of her rough soil will stop the pigmy tide,
Of those who would the whirlwind raise, that they the storm might ride;
They love their chartered rights too well to let a maniac band,
Spread treason, discord, blood, and death, o'er this free happy land!

* In the House of Representatives, Feb. 22, 1844, Mr Dellet quoted from a speech of Mr Adams, "That slavery would be abolished in this country, and throughout the world, I firmly believe; whether it will be done peaceably or by blood, God only knows. But that it shall be accomplished, I have not a doubt; and by whatever means, I say let it come;" yes, "by whatever means, I say let it come."

Mr Dellet asked Mr Adams if he understood him.

Mr A. nodded assent, and said with great earnestness, "let it come."

Mr Dellet—Yes, let it come. No matter, what the consequences, let it come, said the gentleman. Let it come, though women and children should be slain—though blood should flow like water—though the Union should be destroyed—though the government be broken up—no matter though five millions of the people of the south perish.

(Mr Adams, in his seat)—"Five hundred millions, Yes, let it come,"