The Liberator

[From the Vermont State Journal.]

Americans are afraid of freedom.'—Address of Rev. Mr. May, Oct. 22, 1835.

Afraid of Freedom? Can it be—
Or shall it e'er be told, that we,
Whose fathers fought to gain the boon,
Have learned to fear its claims so soon!

Let not the slumbering bones that lie,
On Bunker Hill, hear that reply,
Lest they be clothed with life and sense,
And rattle in their cerements;

Lest Warren spring again to life,
To grasp his sword for mortal strife,
And light again the fires
On Freedom's altars, which have stood,
Unhonored by the great and good;

The vestal fire, once blazing bright,
Extinguished by oppression's might,
As o'er them roll'd the purple flood,
—
Drenched in a wave of human blood!

Oh, tell not the immortal dead,
We fear that prize for which they bled
Hushed be our voice untold the tale—
Lest under their rebuke we quail—
Accursed of our sires!

Afraid of Freedom! Is it so?
Is he whose life you've saved, your foe?
Will he whose mouth you've filled with bread
Turn viper like, and strike you dead?

Has man so much a demon grown,
That when you first his rights shall own,
With fury he will hail the friend,
That speaks to all his woe an end?

Will he on his deliverer fall.
Who breaks till now the helpless thrall—
On him dire vengeance pour!
No! 'tis a libel on our race;
At which fair virtue hides her face;

While Justice lifts his sword on high,
Waiting to close the tragedy,
That waits the scene, if thus we bind,
The body, and th' immortal mind
Of millions of our flesh and blood—

Sons of our Father and our God;
Till he shall bid them in despair,
Rush like the lion from his lair
And drench the land in gore!

LUCIUS.