FOOTNOTES:

[From the New York Tribune.]

HOW OLD JOHN BROWN TOOK HARPER’S FERRY.

A BALLAD FOR THE TIMES.

[Containing ye True History of ye Great Virginia Fright.]

John Brown in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee farmer,Brave and godly, with four sons—all stalwart men of might;There he spoke aloud for Freedom, and the Border-strife grew warmer,Till the Rangers fired his dwelling, in his absence in the night—And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Came homeward in the morning, to find his house burned down.Then he grasped his trusty rifle, and boldly fought for Freedom;Smote from border unto border the fierce invading band;And he and his brave boys vowed—so might Heaven help and speed ’em!—They would save those grand old prairies from the curse that blights the land;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Said—“Boys, the Lord will aid us!” and he shoved his ramrod down.And the Lorddidaid these men, and they labored day and even,Saving Kansas from its peril—and their very lives seemed charmed;Till the Ruffians killed one son, in the blesséd light of heaven—In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed;Then Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible frown.Then they seized another brave boy—not amid the heat of battle,But in peace, behind his plough-share—and they loaded him with chains,And with pikes, before their horses, even as they goad their cattle,Drove him, cruelly, for their sport, and at last blew out his brains;Then Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Raised his right hand up to Heaven, calling Heaven’s vengeance down.And he swore a fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,He would hunt this ravening evil, that had scathed and torn him so—He would seize it by the vitals; he would crush it day and night: heWould so pursue its footsteps—so return it blow for blow—That Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Should be a name to swear by, in backwoods or in town!Then his beard became more grizzled, and his wild blue eye grew wilder,And more sharply curved his hawk’s nose, snuffing battle from afar;And he and the two boys left, though the Kansas strife waxed milder,Grew more sullen, till was over the bloody Border War,And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Had grown crazy, as they reckoned, by his fearful glare and frown.So he left the plains of Kansas and their bitter woes behind him—Slipt off into Virginia, where the statesmen all are born—Hired a farm by Harper’s Ferry, and no one knew where to find him,Or whether he had turned parson, and was jacketed and shorn,For Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Mad as he was, knew texts enough to wear a parson’s gown.He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels, or such trifles,But quietly to his rancho there came, by every train,Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp’s rifles;And eighteen other madmen joined their leader there again.Says Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,“Boys, we have got an army large enough to whip the town!“Whip the town and seize the muskets, free the negroes, and then arm them—Carry the County and the State; ay, and all the potent South;On their own heads be the slaughter, if their victims rise to harm them—These Virginians! who believed not, nor would heed the warning mouth.”Says Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,“The world shall see a Republic, or my name is notJohn Brown!”’Twas the sixteenth of October, on the evening of a Sunday—“This good work,” declared the Captain, “shall be on a holy night!”It was on a Sunday evening, and before the noon of Monday,With two sons, and Captain Stevens, fifteen privates—black and white—Captain Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Marched across the bridged Potomac, and knocked the sentinel down;Took the guarded armory building, and the muskets and the cannon;Captured all the country majors and the colonels, one by one;Scared to death each gallant scion of Virginia they ran on,And before the noon of Monday, I say, the deed was done.Mad Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,With his eighteen other crazy men, went in and took the town.Very little noise and bluster, little smell of powder, made he;It was all done in the midnight, like the Emperor’scoup d’etat:“Cut the wires: stop the rail-cars: hold the streets and bridges!” said he—Then declared the new Republic, with himself for guiding star—This Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown!And the bold two thousand citizens ran off and left the town.Then was riding and railroading and expressing here and thither!And theMartinsburg Sharpshooters, and theCharlestown Volunteers,And theShepherdstownandWinchester Militiahastened whitherOld Brown was said to muster his ten thousand grenadiers!General Brown,Osawatomie Brown!Behind whose rampant banner all the North was pouring down.But at last, ’tis said, some prisoners escaped from Old Brown’s durance,And the effervescent valor of Ye Chivalry broke forth,When they learned that nineteen madmen had the marvellous assurance—Only nineteen—thus to seize the place, and drive them frightened forth;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Found an army come to take him encamped around the town.But to storm with all the forces we have mentioned was too risky;So they hurried off to Richmond for theGovernment Marines—Tore them from their weeping matrons—fired their souls with Bourbon whiskey—Till they battered down Brown’s castle with their ladders and machines;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Received three bayonet stabs, and a cut on his brave old crown.Tallyho! the old Virginia gentry gathered to the baying!In they rush and kill the game, shooting lustily away![A]And whene’er they slay a rebel, those who come too late for slaying,Not to lose a share of glory, fire their bullets in his clay;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid him down.How the conquerors wore their laurels—how they hastened on the trials—How Old Brown was placed, half-dying, on the Charlestown Court-House floor—How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denials—What the brave old madman told them—these are known the country o’er.“Hang Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,”Said the Judge, “and all such rebels!” with his most judicial frown.But, Virginians, don’t do it! for I tell you that the flagon,Filled with blood of Old Brown’s offspring, was first poured by Southern hands:And each drop from Old Brown’s life-veins, like the red gore of the dragon,May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn lands;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,May trouble you more than ever, when you’ve nailed his coffin down!

John Brown in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee farmer,

Brave and godly, with four sons—all stalwart men of might;

There he spoke aloud for Freedom, and the Border-strife grew warmer,

Till the Rangers fired his dwelling, in his absence in the night—

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Came homeward in the morning, to find his house burned down.

Then he grasped his trusty rifle, and boldly fought for Freedom;Smote from border unto border the fierce invading band;And he and his brave boys vowed—so might Heaven help and speed ’em!—They would save those grand old prairies from the curse that blights the land;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Said—“Boys, the Lord will aid us!” and he shoved his ramrod down.

Then he grasped his trusty rifle, and boldly fought for Freedom;

Smote from border unto border the fierce invading band;

And he and his brave boys vowed—so might Heaven help and speed ’em!—

They would save those grand old prairies from the curse that blights the land;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Said—“Boys, the Lord will aid us!” and he shoved his ramrod down.

And the Lorddidaid these men, and they labored day and even,Saving Kansas from its peril—and their very lives seemed charmed;Till the Ruffians killed one son, in the blesséd light of heaven—In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed;Then Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible frown.

And the Lorddidaid these men, and they labored day and even,

Saving Kansas from its peril—and their very lives seemed charmed;

Till the Ruffians killed one son, in the blesséd light of heaven—

In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed;

Then Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible frown.

Then they seized another brave boy—not amid the heat of battle,But in peace, behind his plough-share—and they loaded him with chains,And with pikes, before their horses, even as they goad their cattle,Drove him, cruelly, for their sport, and at last blew out his brains;Then Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Raised his right hand up to Heaven, calling Heaven’s vengeance down.

Then they seized another brave boy—not amid the heat of battle,

But in peace, behind his plough-share—and they loaded him with chains,

And with pikes, before their horses, even as they goad their cattle,

Drove him, cruelly, for their sport, and at last blew out his brains;

Then Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Raised his right hand up to Heaven, calling Heaven’s vengeance down.

And he swore a fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,He would hunt this ravening evil, that had scathed and torn him so—He would seize it by the vitals; he would crush it day and night: heWould so pursue its footsteps—so return it blow for blow—That Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Should be a name to swear by, in backwoods or in town!

And he swore a fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,

He would hunt this ravening evil, that had scathed and torn him so—

He would seize it by the vitals; he would crush it day and night: he

Would so pursue its footsteps—so return it blow for blow—

That Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Should be a name to swear by, in backwoods or in town!

Then his beard became more grizzled, and his wild blue eye grew wilder,And more sharply curved his hawk’s nose, snuffing battle from afar;And he and the two boys left, though the Kansas strife waxed milder,Grew more sullen, till was over the bloody Border War,And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Had grown crazy, as they reckoned, by his fearful glare and frown.

Then his beard became more grizzled, and his wild blue eye grew wilder,

And more sharply curved his hawk’s nose, snuffing battle from afar;

And he and the two boys left, though the Kansas strife waxed milder,

Grew more sullen, till was over the bloody Border War,

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Had grown crazy, as they reckoned, by his fearful glare and frown.

So he left the plains of Kansas and their bitter woes behind him—Slipt off into Virginia, where the statesmen all are born—Hired a farm by Harper’s Ferry, and no one knew where to find him,Or whether he had turned parson, and was jacketed and shorn,For Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Mad as he was, knew texts enough to wear a parson’s gown.

So he left the plains of Kansas and their bitter woes behind him—

Slipt off into Virginia, where the statesmen all are born—

Hired a farm by Harper’s Ferry, and no one knew where to find him,

Or whether he had turned parson, and was jacketed and shorn,

For Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Mad as he was, knew texts enough to wear a parson’s gown.

He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels, or such trifles,But quietly to his rancho there came, by every train,Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp’s rifles;And eighteen other madmen joined their leader there again.Says Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,“Boys, we have got an army large enough to whip the town!

He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels, or such trifles,

But quietly to his rancho there came, by every train,

Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp’s rifles;

And eighteen other madmen joined their leader there again.

Says Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

“Boys, we have got an army large enough to whip the town!

“Whip the town and seize the muskets, free the negroes, and then arm them—Carry the County and the State; ay, and all the potent South;On their own heads be the slaughter, if their victims rise to harm them—These Virginians! who believed not, nor would heed the warning mouth.”Says Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,“The world shall see a Republic, or my name is notJohn Brown!”

“Whip the town and seize the muskets, free the negroes, and then arm them—

Carry the County and the State; ay, and all the potent South;

On their own heads be the slaughter, if their victims rise to harm them—

These Virginians! who believed not, nor would heed the warning mouth.”

Says Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

“The world shall see a Republic, or my name is notJohn Brown!”

’Twas the sixteenth of October, on the evening of a Sunday—“This good work,” declared the Captain, “shall be on a holy night!”It was on a Sunday evening, and before the noon of Monday,With two sons, and Captain Stevens, fifteen privates—black and white—Captain Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Marched across the bridged Potomac, and knocked the sentinel down;

’Twas the sixteenth of October, on the evening of a Sunday—

“This good work,” declared the Captain, “shall be on a holy night!”

It was on a Sunday evening, and before the noon of Monday,

With two sons, and Captain Stevens, fifteen privates—black and white—

Captain Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Marched across the bridged Potomac, and knocked the sentinel down;

Took the guarded armory building, and the muskets and the cannon;Captured all the country majors and the colonels, one by one;Scared to death each gallant scion of Virginia they ran on,And before the noon of Monday, I say, the deed was done.Mad Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,With his eighteen other crazy men, went in and took the town.

Took the guarded armory building, and the muskets and the cannon;

Captured all the country majors and the colonels, one by one;

Scared to death each gallant scion of Virginia they ran on,

And before the noon of Monday, I say, the deed was done.

Mad Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

With his eighteen other crazy men, went in and took the town.

Very little noise and bluster, little smell of powder, made he;It was all done in the midnight, like the Emperor’scoup d’etat:“Cut the wires: stop the rail-cars: hold the streets and bridges!” said he—Then declared the new Republic, with himself for guiding star—This Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown!And the bold two thousand citizens ran off and left the town.

Very little noise and bluster, little smell of powder, made he;

It was all done in the midnight, like the Emperor’scoup d’etat:

“Cut the wires: stop the rail-cars: hold the streets and bridges!” said he—

Then declared the new Republic, with himself for guiding star—

This Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown!

And the bold two thousand citizens ran off and left the town.

Then was riding and railroading and expressing here and thither!And theMartinsburg Sharpshooters, and theCharlestown Volunteers,And theShepherdstownandWinchester Militiahastened whitherOld Brown was said to muster his ten thousand grenadiers!General Brown,Osawatomie Brown!Behind whose rampant banner all the North was pouring down.

Then was riding and railroading and expressing here and thither!

And theMartinsburg Sharpshooters, and theCharlestown Volunteers,

And theShepherdstownandWinchester Militiahastened whither

Old Brown was said to muster his ten thousand grenadiers!

General Brown,

Osawatomie Brown!

Behind whose rampant banner all the North was pouring down.

But at last, ’tis said, some prisoners escaped from Old Brown’s durance,And the effervescent valor of Ye Chivalry broke forth,When they learned that nineteen madmen had the marvellous assurance—Only nineteen—thus to seize the place, and drive them frightened forth;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Found an army come to take him encamped around the town.

But at last, ’tis said, some prisoners escaped from Old Brown’s durance,

And the effervescent valor of Ye Chivalry broke forth,

When they learned that nineteen madmen had the marvellous assurance—

Only nineteen—thus to seize the place, and drive them frightened forth;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Found an army come to take him encamped around the town.

But to storm with all the forces we have mentioned was too risky;So they hurried off to Richmond for theGovernment Marines—Tore them from their weeping matrons—fired their souls with Bourbon whiskey—Till they battered down Brown’s castle with their ladders and machines;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Received three bayonet stabs, and a cut on his brave old crown.

But to storm with all the forces we have mentioned was too risky;

So they hurried off to Richmond for theGovernment Marines—

Tore them from their weeping matrons—fired their souls with Bourbon whiskey—

Till they battered down Brown’s castle with their ladders and machines;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Received three bayonet stabs, and a cut on his brave old crown.

Tallyho! the old Virginia gentry gathered to the baying!In they rush and kill the game, shooting lustily away![A]And whene’er they slay a rebel, those who come too late for slaying,Not to lose a share of glory, fire their bullets in his clay;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid him down.

Tallyho! the old Virginia gentry gathered to the baying!

In they rush and kill the game, shooting lustily away![A]

And whene’er they slay a rebel, those who come too late for slaying,

Not to lose a share of glory, fire their bullets in his clay;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid him down.

How the conquerors wore their laurels—how they hastened on the trials—How Old Brown was placed, half-dying, on the Charlestown Court-House floor—How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denials—What the brave old madman told them—these are known the country o’er.“Hang Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,”Said the Judge, “and all such rebels!” with his most judicial frown.

How the conquerors wore their laurels—how they hastened on the trials—

How Old Brown was placed, half-dying, on the Charlestown Court-House floor—

How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denials—

What the brave old madman told them—these are known the country o’er.

“Hang Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,”

Said the Judge, “and all such rebels!” with his most judicial frown.

But, Virginians, don’t do it! for I tell you that the flagon,Filled with blood of Old Brown’s offspring, was first poured by Southern hands:And each drop from Old Brown’s life-veins, like the red gore of the dragon,May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn lands;And Old Brown,Osawatomie Brown,May trouble you more than ever, when you’ve nailed his coffin down!

But, Virginians, don’t do it! for I tell you that the flagon,

Filled with blood of Old Brown’s offspring, was first poured by Southern hands:

And each drop from Old Brown’s life-veins, like the red gore of the dragon,

May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn lands;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

May trouble you more than ever, when you’ve nailed his coffin down!

FOOTNOTES:[A]“The hunt was up—woe to the game enclosed within that fiery circle! The town was occupied by a thousand or fifteen hundred men, including volunteer companies from Shepherdstown, Charlestown, Winchester, and elsewhere; but the armed and unorganized multitude largely predominated, giving the affair more the character of a great hunting scene than that of a battle. The savage game was holed beyond all possibility of escape.”—Virginia Correspondent of Harper’s Weekly.

[A]“The hunt was up—woe to the game enclosed within that fiery circle! The town was occupied by a thousand or fifteen hundred men, including volunteer companies from Shepherdstown, Charlestown, Winchester, and elsewhere; but the armed and unorganized multitude largely predominated, giving the affair more the character of a great hunting scene than that of a battle. The savage game was holed beyond all possibility of escape.”—Virginia Correspondent of Harper’s Weekly.

[From the Boston Liberator.]

JOHN BROWN OF OSAWATOMIE.

BY G. D. WHITMORE.

So you’ve convicted old John Brown! brave old Brown of Osawatomie!And you gave him achivalroustrial, lying groaning on the floor,With his body ripped with gashes, deaf with pain from sabre slashes,Over the head received, when the deadly fight was o’er;Round him guns with lighted matches, judge and lawyers pale as ashes—For he might, perhaps, come to again, and put you all to flight,Or surround you, as before!You think, no doubt,you’ve tried John Brown, but he’s laid there tryingyou,And the world has been his jury, and its judgment’s swift and true:Over the globe the tale has rung, back to your hearts the verdict’s flung,That you’re found, as you’ve been always found, a brutal, cowardly crew!At the wave of his hand to a dozen men, two thousand slunk like hounds;He kennelled you up, and kept you too, till twice you saw through the azure blue,The day-star circle round.No longer the taunt, our history’s new, “our hero is yet to come”—We’ve suddenly leaped a thousand years beyond the rolling sun!And, sheeted round with a martyr’s glory, again on earth’s renewed the storyOf bravery, truth, and righteousness, a battle lost and won;A life laid down for the poor and weak, the immortal crown put on;The spark of Luther’s touched to the pile—swords gleam—black smoke obscures the sun—And the slave and his master are gone!Ages hence, when all is over that shocks the sense of the world to-day,Pilgrims will mount the western wave, seeking the new Thermopylæ;Then, for that brave old man with many sons, mangled and murdered, one by one,Whose ghosts rise up from Harper’s gorge, Missouri’s plains, and far awayWhere Kansas’ grains wave tinged with their blood, will the column rise!The Poet’s song and History’s page will the deeds prolong of John of Osawatomie,The Martyr to Truth and Right!

So you’ve convicted old John Brown! brave old Brown of Osawatomie!

And you gave him achivalroustrial, lying groaning on the floor,

With his body ripped with gashes, deaf with pain from sabre slashes,

Over the head received, when the deadly fight was o’er;

Round him guns with lighted matches, judge and lawyers pale as ashes—

For he might, perhaps, come to again, and put you all to flight,

Or surround you, as before!

You think, no doubt,you’ve tried John Brown, but he’s laid there tryingyou,And the world has been his jury, and its judgment’s swift and true:Over the globe the tale has rung, back to your hearts the verdict’s flung,That you’re found, as you’ve been always found, a brutal, cowardly crew!At the wave of his hand to a dozen men, two thousand slunk like hounds;He kennelled you up, and kept you too, till twice you saw through the azure blue,The day-star circle round.

You think, no doubt,you’ve tried John Brown, but he’s laid there tryingyou,

And the world has been his jury, and its judgment’s swift and true:

Over the globe the tale has rung, back to your hearts the verdict’s flung,

That you’re found, as you’ve been always found, a brutal, cowardly crew!

At the wave of his hand to a dozen men, two thousand slunk like hounds;

He kennelled you up, and kept you too, till twice you saw through the azure blue,

The day-star circle round.

No longer the taunt, our history’s new, “our hero is yet to come”—We’ve suddenly leaped a thousand years beyond the rolling sun!And, sheeted round with a martyr’s glory, again on earth’s renewed the storyOf bravery, truth, and righteousness, a battle lost and won;A life laid down for the poor and weak, the immortal crown put on;The spark of Luther’s touched to the pile—swords gleam—black smoke obscures the sun—And the slave and his master are gone!

No longer the taunt, our history’s new, “our hero is yet to come”—

We’ve suddenly leaped a thousand years beyond the rolling sun!

And, sheeted round with a martyr’s glory, again on earth’s renewed the story

Of bravery, truth, and righteousness, a battle lost and won;

A life laid down for the poor and weak, the immortal crown put on;

The spark of Luther’s touched to the pile—swords gleam—black smoke obscures the sun—

And the slave and his master are gone!

Ages hence, when all is over that shocks the sense of the world to-day,Pilgrims will mount the western wave, seeking the new Thermopylæ;Then, for that brave old man with many sons, mangled and murdered, one by one,Whose ghosts rise up from Harper’s gorge, Missouri’s plains, and far awayWhere Kansas’ grains wave tinged with their blood, will the column rise!The Poet’s song and History’s page will the deeds prolong of John of Osawatomie,The Martyr to Truth and Right!

Ages hence, when all is over that shocks the sense of the world to-day,

Pilgrims will mount the western wave, seeking the new Thermopylæ;

Then, for that brave old man with many sons, mangled and murdered, one by one,

Whose ghosts rise up from Harper’s gorge, Missouri’s plains, and far away

Where Kansas’ grains wave tinged with their blood, will the column rise!

The Poet’s song and History’s page will the deeds prolong of John of Osawatomie,

The Martyr to Truth and Right!

[From the New York Independent.]

THE VIRGINIA SCAFFOLD.

Rear on high the scaffold altar! all the world will turn to seeHow a man has dared to suffer that his brothers may be free!Hear it on some hill-side looking North and South and East and West,Where the wind from every quarter fresh may blow upon his breast,And the sun look down unshaded from the chill December sky,Glad to shine upon the hero who for Freedom dared to die!All the world will turn to see him;—from the pines of wave-washed MaineTo the golden rivers rolling over California’s plain,And from clear Superior’s waters, where the wild swan loves to sail,To the Gulf-lands, summer-bosomed, fanned by ocean’s softest gale,—Every heart will beat the faster in its sorrow or its scorn,For the man nor courts nor prisons can annoy another morn!And from distant climes and nations men shall westward gaze, and say,“He who perilled all for Freedom on the scaffold dies to-day.”Never offering was richer, nor did temple fairer riseFor the gods serenely smiling from the blue Olympian skies;Porphyry or granite column did not statelier cleave the airThan the posts of yonder gallows with the cross-beam waiting there;And the victim, wreathed and crownéd, not for Dian nor for Jove,But for Liberty and Manhood, comes, the sacrifice of Love.They may hang him on the gibbet; they may raise the victor’s cry,When they see him darkly swinging like a speck against the sky;—Ah! the dying of a hero, that the right may win its way,Is but sowing seed for harvest in a warm and mellow May!Now his story shall be whispered by the firelight’s evening glow,And in fields of rice and cotton, when the hot noon passes slow,Till his name shall be a watch-word from Missouri to the sea,And his planting find its reaping in the birthday of the Free!Christ, the crucified, attend him, weak and erring though he be;In his measure he has striven, suffering Lord! to love like Thee;Thou the vine—thy friends the branches—is he not a branch of Thine,Though some dregs from earthly vintage have defiled the heavenly wine?Now his tendrils lie unclaspéd, bruised and prostrate on the sod,—Take him to thine upper garden, where the husbandman is God!

Rear on high the scaffold altar! all the world will turn to see

How a man has dared to suffer that his brothers may be free!

Hear it on some hill-side looking North and South and East and West,

Where the wind from every quarter fresh may blow upon his breast,

And the sun look down unshaded from the chill December sky,

Glad to shine upon the hero who for Freedom dared to die!

All the world will turn to see him;—from the pines of wave-washed MaineTo the golden rivers rolling over California’s plain,And from clear Superior’s waters, where the wild swan loves to sail,To the Gulf-lands, summer-bosomed, fanned by ocean’s softest gale,—Every heart will beat the faster in its sorrow or its scorn,For the man nor courts nor prisons can annoy another morn!And from distant climes and nations men shall westward gaze, and say,“He who perilled all for Freedom on the scaffold dies to-day.”

All the world will turn to see him;—from the pines of wave-washed Maine

To the golden rivers rolling over California’s plain,

And from clear Superior’s waters, where the wild swan loves to sail,

To the Gulf-lands, summer-bosomed, fanned by ocean’s softest gale,—

Every heart will beat the faster in its sorrow or its scorn,

For the man nor courts nor prisons can annoy another morn!

And from distant climes and nations men shall westward gaze, and say,

“He who perilled all for Freedom on the scaffold dies to-day.”

Never offering was richer, nor did temple fairer riseFor the gods serenely smiling from the blue Olympian skies;Porphyry or granite column did not statelier cleave the airThan the posts of yonder gallows with the cross-beam waiting there;And the victim, wreathed and crownéd, not for Dian nor for Jove,But for Liberty and Manhood, comes, the sacrifice of Love.

Never offering was richer, nor did temple fairer rise

For the gods serenely smiling from the blue Olympian skies;

Porphyry or granite column did not statelier cleave the air

Than the posts of yonder gallows with the cross-beam waiting there;

And the victim, wreathed and crownéd, not for Dian nor for Jove,

But for Liberty and Manhood, comes, the sacrifice of Love.

They may hang him on the gibbet; they may raise the victor’s cry,When they see him darkly swinging like a speck against the sky;—Ah! the dying of a hero, that the right may win its way,Is but sowing seed for harvest in a warm and mellow May!Now his story shall be whispered by the firelight’s evening glow,And in fields of rice and cotton, when the hot noon passes slow,Till his name shall be a watch-word from Missouri to the sea,And his planting find its reaping in the birthday of the Free!

They may hang him on the gibbet; they may raise the victor’s cry,

When they see him darkly swinging like a speck against the sky;—

Ah! the dying of a hero, that the right may win its way,

Is but sowing seed for harvest in a warm and mellow May!

Now his story shall be whispered by the firelight’s evening glow,

And in fields of rice and cotton, when the hot noon passes slow,

Till his name shall be a watch-word from Missouri to the sea,

And his planting find its reaping in the birthday of the Free!

Christ, the crucified, attend him, weak and erring though he be;In his measure he has striven, suffering Lord! to love like Thee;Thou the vine—thy friends the branches—is he not a branch of Thine,Though some dregs from earthly vintage have defiled the heavenly wine?Now his tendrils lie unclaspéd, bruised and prostrate on the sod,—Take him to thine upper garden, where the husbandman is God!

Christ, the crucified, attend him, weak and erring though he be;

In his measure he has striven, suffering Lord! to love like Thee;

Thou the vine—thy friends the branches—is he not a branch of Thine,

Though some dregs from earthly vintage have defiled the heavenly wine?

Now his tendrils lie unclaspéd, bruised and prostrate on the sod,—

Take him to thine upper garden, where the husbandman is God!

“OLD JOHN BROWN.”

BY REV. E. H. SEARS.

Not any spot six feet by twoWill hold a man like thee;John Brown will tramp the shaking earth,From Blue Ridge to the sea,Till the strong angel comes at last,And opes each dungeon door,And God’s “Great Charter” holds and wavesO’er all his humble poor.And then the humble poor will come,In that far-distant day,And from the felon’s nameless graveThey’ll brush the leaves away;And gray old men will point the spotBeneath the pine-tree shade,As children ask with streaming eyesWhere “Old John Brown” is laid.

Not any spot six feet by two

Will hold a man like thee;

John Brown will tramp the shaking earth,

From Blue Ridge to the sea,

Till the strong angel comes at last,

And opes each dungeon door,

And God’s “Great Charter” holds and waves

O’er all his humble poor.

And then the humble poor will come,In that far-distant day,And from the felon’s nameless graveThey’ll brush the leaves away;And gray old men will point the spotBeneath the pine-tree shade,As children ask with streaming eyesWhere “Old John Brown” is laid.

And then the humble poor will come,

In that far-distant day,

And from the felon’s nameless grave

They’ll brush the leaves away;

And gray old men will point the spot

Beneath the pine-tree shade,

As children ask with streaming eyes

Where “Old John Brown” is laid.

DIRGE

Sung at a Meeting in Concord, Mass., Dec. 2, 1859.

To-day, beside Potomac’s wave,Beneath Virginia’s sky,They slay the man who loved the slave,And dared for him to die.The Pilgrim Fathers’ earnest creed,Virginia’s ancient faith,Inspired this hero’s noblest deed,And his reward is—Death!Great Washington’s indignant shadeFor ever urged him on—He heard from Monticello’s gladeThe voice of Jefferson.But chiefly on the Hebrew pageHe read Jehovah’s law,And this from youth to hoary ageObeyed with love and awe.No selfish purpose armed his hand,No passion aimed his blow;How loyally he loved his land,Impartial Time shall show.But now the faithful martyr dies,His brave heart beats no more,His soul ascends the equal skies,His earthly course is o’er.For this we mourn, but not for him,—Like him in God we trust;And though our eyes with tears are dim,We know that God is just.

To-day, beside Potomac’s wave,Beneath Virginia’s sky,They slay the man who loved the slave,And dared for him to die.

To-day, beside Potomac’s wave,

Beneath Virginia’s sky,

They slay the man who loved the slave,

And dared for him to die.

The Pilgrim Fathers’ earnest creed,Virginia’s ancient faith,Inspired this hero’s noblest deed,And his reward is—Death!

The Pilgrim Fathers’ earnest creed,

Virginia’s ancient faith,

Inspired this hero’s noblest deed,

And his reward is—Death!

Great Washington’s indignant shadeFor ever urged him on—He heard from Monticello’s gladeThe voice of Jefferson.

Great Washington’s indignant shade

For ever urged him on—

He heard from Monticello’s glade

The voice of Jefferson.

But chiefly on the Hebrew pageHe read Jehovah’s law,And this from youth to hoary ageObeyed with love and awe.

But chiefly on the Hebrew page

He read Jehovah’s law,

And this from youth to hoary age

Obeyed with love and awe.

No selfish purpose armed his hand,No passion aimed his blow;How loyally he loved his land,Impartial Time shall show.

No selfish purpose armed his hand,

No passion aimed his blow;

How loyally he loved his land,

Impartial Time shall show.

But now the faithful martyr dies,His brave heart beats no more,His soul ascends the equal skies,His earthly course is o’er.

But now the faithful martyr dies,

His brave heart beats no more,

His soul ascends the equal skies,

His earthly course is o’er.

For this we mourn, but not for him,—Like him in God we trust;And though our eyes with tears are dim,We know that God is just.

For this we mourn, but not for him,—

Like him in God we trust;

And though our eyes with tears are dim,

We know that God is just.

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