The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[75]
     From Indian Bengal's groves of palm
And rosy fields and gales of balm,
     Where Eastern pomp and power are rolled
Through regal Ava's gates of gold;
     And from the lakes and ancient woods
And dim Canadian solitudes,
     Whence, sternly from her rocky throne,
Queen of the North, Quebec looks down;
     And from those bright and ransomed Isles
Where all unwonted Freedom smiles,
     And the dark laborer still retains
The scar of slavery's broken chains!

From the hoar Alps, which sentinel
     The gateways of the land of Tell,
Where morning's keen and earliest glance
     On Jura's rocky wall is thrown,
And from the olive bowers of France
     And vine groves garlanding the Rhone,—
‘Friends of the Blacks,’ as true and tried
     As those who stood by Oge's side,
And heard the Haytien's tale of wrong,
     Shall gather at that summons strong;
Broglie, Passy, and he whose song
     Breathed over Syria's holy sod,
And in the paths which Jesus trod,
     And murmured midst the hills which hem
Crownless and sad Jerusalem,
     Hath echoes whereso'er the tone
Of Israel's prophet-lyre is known.

Still let them come; from Quito's walls,
     And from the Orinoco's tide,