answer, is the spirit
  Less noble or less free?
From whom does it inherit
  The doom of slavery?
When man can bind the waters,
  That they no longer roll,
Then let him forge the fetters
  To clog the human soul.

Till then a voice is stealing
  From earth and sea and sky,
And to the soul revealing
  Its immortality.
The swift wind chants the numbers
  Careering o'er the sea,
And earth, aroused from slumbers,
  Re-echoes, "Man, be free."

THE FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

The fetters galled my weary soul—
A soul that seemed but thrown away;
I spurned the tyrant's base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:—
  The hounds are baying on my track;
  O Christian! will you send me back?

I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's gore;
And worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!
  The hounds are baying on my track,
  O Christian! will you send me back?

Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and babes,—I call them mine,—
And where they suffer, who can tell?
  The hounds are baying on my track,
  O Christian! will you send me back?

I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,
To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free, though humble hearth.
  The hounds are baying on my track,
  O Christian! will you send me back?

RESCUE THE SLAVE!

AIR—The Troubadour.

This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.

Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
  Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
  Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.

Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
  Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
  Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.

Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
  Should his hard master e'er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
  Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.

Freely the slave master goes where he will;
  Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
  Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.

Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
  See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
  Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.

Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
  Slavery is knocking, at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
  Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.

THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S ADDRESS TO THE NORTH STAR.

Star of the North! Thou art not bigger
  Than is the diamond in my ring;
Yet, every black, star-gazing nigger
  Looks at thee, as at some great thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
  And thankless rascal is half crazy.

Some Abolitionist has told them,
  That, if they take their flight toward thee,
They'll get where "massa" cannot hold them,
  And therefore to the North they flee.
Fools to be led off, where they can't earn
  Their living, by thy lying lantern.

We will to New England write,
  And tell them not to let thee shine
(Excepting of a cloudy night)
  Anywhere south of Dixon's line;
If beyond that thou shine an inch,
  We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch.

And when, thou Abolition star,
  Who preachest Freedom in all weathers,
Thou hast got on thy coat of tar,
  And over that, a cloak of feathers,
Thou art "fixed" none will deny,
  If there's a fixed star in the sky.

SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.

This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs, when parting from friends for the far off South—children taken from parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.

  See these poor souls from Africa,
  Transported to America:
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.

  See wives and husbands sold apart,
  The children's screams!—it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

  O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
  That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers—will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.

  Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
  Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

ZAZA—THE FEMALE SLAVE.

O, my country, my country!
  How long I for thee,
Far over the mountain,
  Far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba,
  Kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander
  By thee never more?
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more.

Say, O fond Zurima,
  Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
  List to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
  Bloom near our cot?
Zurima, Zurima,
  Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

Under the baobab
  Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
  That over me swept.
Often in dreams
  Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath the same baobab,
  Far, far away.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

O, for the breath
  Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
  My spirit to calm—
O, for a draught
  From our own cooling lake,
Brought by sweet mother,
  My spirit to wake.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

YE HERALDS OF FREEDOM.

Ye heralds of freedom, ye noble and brave,
Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave,
Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God,
And he will soon sever the oppressor's strong rod.

The finger of slander may now at you point,
That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint;
And those who now plead for the rights of the slave,
Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.

Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers,
May now all oppose you, the victory is