Rouse up, New England! Buckle on your mail of proof sublime,
Your stern old hate of tyranny, 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.
Six slave States added at a breath! One flourish of a pen,
And fetters shall be riveted on millions more of men!
One drop of ink to sign a name, and slavery shall find
For all her surplus flesh and blood, a market to her mind!
A market where good Democrats their fellow men may sell!
O, what a grin of fiendish glee runs round and round thro' hell!
How all the damned leap up for joy and half forget their fire,
To think men take such pains to claim the notice of God's ire.
Is't not enough that we have borne the sneer of all the world,
And bent to those whose haughty lips in scorn of us are curled?
Is't not enough that we must hunt their living chattels back,
And cheer the hungry bloodhounds on, that howl upon their track?
Is't not enough that we must bow to all that they decree,—
These cotton and tobacco lords, these pimps of slavery?
That we must yield our conscience up to glut Oppression's maw,
And break our faith with God to keep the letter of Man's law?
But must we sit in silence by, and see the chain and whip
Made firmer for all time to come in Slavery's bloody grip!
Must we not only half the guilt and all the shame endure,
But help to make our tyrant's throne of flesh and blood secure?
Is water running in our veins? Do we remember still
Old Plymouth rock, and Lexington, and glorious Bunker Hill?
The debt we owe our Father's graves? and to the yet unborn,
Whose heritage ourselves must make a thing of pride or scorn?
Grey Plymouth rock hath yet a tongue, and Concord is not dumb,
And voices from our father's graves, and from the future come;
They call on us to stand our ground, they charge us still to be
Not only free from chains ourselves, but foremost to make free!
Awake, New England! While you sleep the foes advance their lines;
Already on your stronghold's wall their bloody banner shines;
Awake! and hurl them back again in terror and despair,
The time has come for earnest deeds, we've not a man to spare.