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By means of war, she hopes may all do well!
But Governor Andrew, as we late did see,
Can't entertain them for the briefest spell;
For when they claimed his hospitality,
He virtually told them, “Go to----!”
No, no--New-England wants the negroes freed,
But the poor darkies will not clothe and feed.
In several places there are “contrabands”
In utter misery and destitution,
Poor Cuffee! he now understands
The blessings brought on him, by revolution.
And honest white men, in our own and other lands,
Lament his losses, when we lost the Constitution.
Adown in Cairo there are sorry sights--
Negroes more wretched, even, than poor whites!
The “old plantation!” How doth Cuffee mourn
For home, and “massa;” and the jolly days,
When he was “fat and saucy,” and could turn
His back on want! He sang his simple lays--
Minstrel of nature! nor did he ever learn
That he was all “down-trodden.” In the maze
Of negro dance, with Dinah vis-a-vis,
What monarch ever happier than he?
For Africa's barbarians, once brought
In middle passages o'er ocean's tide,
Have left descendants, who have haply caught
Some sparks of Christianity, beside
A race superior. And you would have sought
In vain, through all of earth's dominions wide,
For laboring people happier than they,
While meddling disturbers could be kept away.
It could not last. New-England's pseudo saints
Must rectify affairs to suit their notion.
They spurned all constitutional restraints
To aid the “fugitives” in locomotion.
They gave foundation to the South's complaints,
And thus arose this terrible commotion.
'Twas ignorance and madness that incited them,
And--God of Heaven! the upshot has delighted them.
For war, they say, is better than “aggression”
Of “slavery” upon the Northern rights!
And Pharisees in pulpit, make profession
Of Christian gifts — applauding deadly fights!
O'er battle-fields they gloat! the sad procession
Of killed and mangled are refreshing sights!
For vacant hearth-stones, ruin, desolation,
They say, are tokens of the land's salvation!
But what aggression ever yet was made
Upon a single Northern law or right?
Did Southern people ever yet invade
The soil of any State, for spoil or fight?
Did any John Brown, at his felon's trade,
A single Northern heart e'er wound or blight?
(I mean of course, before we had secession--
The remedy, ill chosen, for the North's aggression.)
“Oh! yes!” we're told, “they labored to expand
The country's bounds! They years ago did vex us
With Louisiana, (which turned out a grand
Affair enough;) then Florida, then Texas
Were taken in; enlarging thus the land
Against the Northern protest; did perplex us
With California, and some other slices
Of Mexico, against our sage advices.”
Thus we have briefly told “what was the matter;”
Thus the “aggression” of the South we see!
But more than this, they even sought to scatter
Themselves o'er these new lands, as well as we;
And equal rights they claimed, while we did flatter
Ourselves we were superiors to be!
And this was all; no right they e'er denied us,
Except, that when we threatened, they defied us.
They did what born Americans must do,
When wronged; they swore to seek redress!
They to the Union had been firm and true--
Made for their safety and their happiness;
They clung to rights by Constitution due
To free white men, who only them possess.
But they did err in choice of modes for righting
All wrongs; they chose secession, and then fighting!
But view the case reversed. Suppose the North
Denied the rights, essential to existence;
Suppose her people styled “barbarians,” and so forth;
Their “chattels” stolen, with insane persistence?
Suppose the Constitution of so little worth,
That plain provisions met with mad resistance?
Suppose the South a “higher law” thus claiming,
To wound the North, and all her sons defaming?
How long would Yankees bear such imposition?
O shades of Otis, Adams, Warren! Ye
Have left but craven sons, if such condition
Could e'er be theirs, and borne all patiently!
No! in their self-defence they'd take position,
Stand on their rights! and swear fidelity
To their own section; and defend it ever,
Even if the strife the Union should dissever!
For have not Yankees struggled for their right?
Ask Concord, Lexington, Ticonderoga!
Ask Bunker Hill, and many a lesser fight!
Ask old Burgoyne, him “bagged” at Saratoga!
Or ask the Indian files at night
In Boston Bay, when “tea” was all in vogue — eh?
Oh! these are names on history's gilt-edged paper!
Which men will read while Time can hold his taper!
But they, whose sires for right could thus contend,
Have caught their spirit somewhere in extreme;
And not content their own rights to defend,
To quelch the rights of others is their dream!
All — all — to them must basely bow and bend,
Howe'er degrading such submission seem.
The South to madness goaded, now they'd take
The little profit that the West can make!
The tariff — fixed precisely as they want it,
The markets to secure, sans competition--
May drain our pockets; but they only vaunt it
A happy trick, and laugh at our position.
Though poverty the Western home may haunt, it
May not invade the home of Abolition!
The land in other parts howe'er distrest--
New-England yet will “feather her own nest.”
But they did err in choice of modes for righting
All wrongs; they chose secession and then fighting!
But Shakspeare, prince of poets, hap'ly says
“Vaulting ambition doth o'erleap itself,”
And even New-England may see other days,
When ruined hopes another tale will tell.
“Curses come home to roost” --and wicked ways
Have retribution, when deserved so well.
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