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Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more!

Gone, gone, --sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,—
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,-sold and gone,

To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
By the holy love He beareth,—
By the bruised reed He spareth,—
O, may He, to whom alone

All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone,-sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,-
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!


P the streets of Aberdeen,


By the kirk and college green,
Rode the Laird of Ury;

Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,
Pressed the mob in fury.

Flouted him the drunken churl,
Jeered at him the serving-girl,

Prompt to please her master;
And the begging carlin, late
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate,

Cursed him as he passed her.

Yet, with calm and stately mien,
Up the streets of Aberdeen
Came he slowly riding:

And, to all he saw and heard,
Answering not with bitter word,
Turning not for chiding.

Came a troop with broadswords swinging,
Bits and bridles sharply ringing,

Loose and free and froward;

Quoth the foremost, "Ride him down!
Push him! prick him! through the town
Drive the Quaker coward!"

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"Speak the word, and, master mine, As we charged on Tilly's line,

And his Walloon lancers,

Smiting through their midst we'll teach Civil look and decent speech

To these boyish prancers!"

"Marvel not, mine ancient friend,
Like beginning, like the end":
Quoth the Laird of Ury,
"Is the sinful servant more
Than his gracious Lord who bore
Bonds and stripes in Jewry?

"Give me joy that in his name
I can bear, with patient frame,
All these vain ones offer;

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All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:

When faith is lost, when honor dies,

The man is dead!

Then, pay the reverence of old days

To his dead fame;

Walk backward, with averted gaze,
And hide the shame!



[Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal. 1849.-Prose Works. 1866.] NEWBURY ON THE MERRIMACK, May 14, 1678.

E were hardly on our way yesterday, from Agawam, when a dashing young gallant rode up very fast behind us. He was fairly clad in rich stuffs, and rode a nag of good mettle. He saluted us with much ease and courtliness, offering especial compliments to Rebecca, to whom he seemed well known, and who I thought was both glad and surprised at his coming. As I rode near, she said it gave her great joy to bring to each other's acquaintance Sir Thomas Hale, a good friend of her father's, and her cousin Margaret, who, like himself, was a new-comer. He replied, that he should look with favor on any one who was near to her in friendship or kindred; and, on learning my father's name, said he had seen him at his uncle's, Sir Matthew Hale's, many years ago, and could vouch for him as a worthy man. After some pleasant and merry discoursing with us, he and my brother fell into converse upon the state of affairs in the Colony, the late lamentable war with the Narraganset and Pequod Indians, together with the growth of heresy and schism in the churches, which latter he did not scruple to charge upon the wicked policy of the home government in checking the wholesome severity of the laws here enacted against the schemers and ranters. "I quite agree," said he, "with Mr. Rawson, that they should have hanged ten where they did one." Cousin Rebecca here said she was sure her father was now glad the laws were changed, and that he had often told her that, although the condemned deserved their punishment, he was not sure that it was the best way to put down the heresy. If she was ruler, she continued, in her merry way, she would send all the schemers and 'ranters, and all the sour, crabbed busybodies in the churches, off to Rhode Island, where all kinds of folly, in spirituals, as well as temporals, were permitted, and one crazy head could not reproach another.

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