Anti Slavery Bugle

CARRIER'S ADDRESS.

TO THE READERS OF THE BUGLE.

I tossed to and fro t'other night on my bed
With a puzzled brain and a sad aching head,
Thinking out an address for my patrons so dear
Half trembling with hope, half quaking with fear,
I tried forty themes, first one then another;
But every one proved only common place pother.
I thought of the markets, the schools & the weather
But they all seemed to run into hotch-potch together
Then I tried for the ladies to grind out a rhyme.
God bless the dear creatures! 'twas spending of time
No thing could I say, but had been said before
By scribblers and rhymers a thousand or more.
I next turned me to politics, but 'twas so sad,
So little to cheer me or make me feel glad,
Its visage with fraud and deception so scarred;
With wrong and oppression so blighted and marred,
So begrimed and distorted with passion and pride
So untrue to itself—I soon turned me aside.
Aye, turned me aside from the heart-sickening sight,
Twas fearful and dark as a storm of the night.
To find an original thought was the thing;
So my muse flitted on till she wearied her wing
Not a thought could she find but was worn out & old
Not a song could she sing but was cheerless and cold
Desponding, exhausted she laid down to weep
At her pitiful fate and we both fell asleep
I dreamed that my childhood had flitted away,
My youth too was gone with its warm summer day;
My manhood was passing into its sear leaf
Its harvest all gathered in bright golden sheaf
And I stood an old man with gray hairs on my head
On the ladder of time sixty rounds up, I trow.
The words nineteen hundred, were easily read
On the azure blue flag that waved over my head
And a populous city spread out at my feet;
Where business and pleasure made gay every street,
The country around was a bright fairy land
Full of hedgerows & gardens and mansions so grand.
Light rail cars went whizzing with marketing round
An old lumber wagon no where to be found.
While the passengers laughing & free from all care
Sailed round in a gondola, borne on the air
Every thing looked so brilliant, so cheerful and gay
That I asked of an urchin just passing that way
"What city is this?" Quick he answered with glee
"It is SALEM, dear sir, what else should it be?"
I sighed as I thought o'er the years I had slept,
And, but for the brilliance around me, had wept.
"But," said I, "my good boy if it be not a task
The news of the day. I most humbly would ask."
"No task," he exclaimed. 'boys are now a-days taught
To respect and be kind to old age as they ought,
And since you're a stranger, I'll tell all I know
New Years' will more lightly and cheerfully go,
For to do a good action adds zest to our play
And we fail not to do it as oft as we may.
The news from old Europe long years since came o'er,
Not a king or a queen could be found on her shore
True Democracy governs and rules in their stead
The poor all have homes and a plenty of bread.
In our own happy country there's naught but free toil,
Not the foot of a slave leaves its mark on our soil.
Human Rights are acknowledged & all are now free
No matter what sect, sex or color they be.
Since Woman helps rule, the dark ages are o'er,
War, Slavery, Intemperance, triumph no more;
And the wonder is now that men so long could
Have kept from their councils these wise ones and good.
The law that we live by is, love one another,
And treat every one as a friend and a brother.
Every one pays his debts, every one speaks the truth
Youth bows to old age and old age smiles on youth.
The words mine and thine are not heard any more
They belong to the crazy old English of yore,
But peace, love and charity hand in hand come,
And love waves his rose colored wings o'er each home
Ohio led off in this holy communion,
She's now number one in the states of the Union
And the Union no longer in danger is found:
Equal rights unto all keep it all safe and sound
Just then an air vessel came booming along,
And the engineer tuned up his whistle so strong
And on a great fiddle that went all by steam,
He played Yankee Doodle and broke up my dream.
I awoke with a bound and to writing I flew,
In hopes to preserve it, dear patrons, for you;
Its brilliance, I fear, has been dimmed by my rhymes
Please silver it o'er for my sake, with your dimes
Heaven's blessings on each and a long life of joy,
Is the prayer of your servant, the carrier boy.