Loose every hard burden--break off every chain-- Restore to the bondman his freedom again.

FLING OUT THE ANTI-SLAVERY FLAG.

AIR--Auld Lang Syne

Fling out the Anti-slavery flag On every swelling breeze; And let its folds wave o'er the land, And o'er the raging seas, Till all beneath the standard sheet, With new allegiance bow; And pledge themselves to onward bear The emblem of their vow.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it onward wave Till it shall float o'er every clime, And liberate the slave; Till, like a meteor flashing far, It bursts with glorious light, And with its Heaven-born rays dispels The gloom of sorrow's night.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it not be furled, Till like a planet of the skies, It sweeps around the world.

And when each poor degraded slave, Is gathered near and far; O, fix it on the azure arch, As hope's eternal star.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, Forever let it be The emblem to a holy cause, The banner of the free.

And never from its guardian height, Let it by man be driven, But let it float forever there, Beneath the smiles of heaven.

THE YANKEE GIRL.

She sings by her wheel at that low cottage door, Which the long evening shadow is stretching before; With a music as sweet as the music which seems Breathed softly and faintly in the ear of our dreams!

How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, Like a star glancing out from the blue of the sky!

And lightly and freely her dark tresses play O'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they!

Who comes in his pride to that low cottage door-- The haughty and rich to the humble and poor?

'Tis the great Southern planter--the master who waves His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves.

"Nay, Ellen, for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin, Who would pa.s.s for our slaves with a change of their skin; Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel Too stupid for shame and too vulgar to feel!

"But thou art too lovely and precious a gem To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them-- For shame, Ellen, shame!--cast thy bondage aside, And away to the South, as my blessing and pride.

"O, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, But where flowers are blossoming all the year long, Where the shade of the palm-tree is over my home, And the lemon and orange are white in their bloom!

"O, come to my home, where my servants shall all Depart at thy bidding and come at thy call; They shall heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe, And each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law."

O, could ye have seen her--that pride of our girls-- Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel:

"Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold!

Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear!

"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours, And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers; But, dearer the blast round our mountains which raves, Than the sweet sunny zephyr which breathes over slaves!

"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel, With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel; Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be In _fetters_ with _them_, than in freedom with _thee!_"

From Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.

JEFFERSON'S DAUGHTER.

"It is a.s.serted, on the authority of an American Newspaper, that the daughter of Thomas Jefferson, late President of the United States, was sold at New Orleans for $1,000."--Morning Chronicle.

Can the blood that, at Lexington, poured o'er the plain, When the sons warred with tyrants their rights to uphold, Can the tide of Niagara wipe out the stain?

No! Jefferson's child has been bartered for gold!

Do you boast of your freedom? Peace, babblers--be still; Prate not of the G.o.ddess who scarce deigns to hear; Have ye power to unbind? Are ye wanting in will?

Must the groans of your bondman still torture the ear?

The daughter of Jefferson sold for a slave!

The child of a freeman for dollars and francs!

The roar of applause, when your orators rave, Is lost in the sound of her chain, as it clanks.

Peace, then, ye blasphemers of Liberty's name!

Though red was the blood by your forefathers spilt, Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame, Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.

But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin, Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath; While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within, And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.

Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise?

Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,-- Unheeding the clamor that "maddens the skies,"

As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men?

When the incense that glows before Liberty's shrine, Is unmixed with the blood of the galled and oppressed, O, then, and then only, the boast may be thine, That the stripes and stars wave o'er a land of the blest.

THE SLAVE-AUCTION--A FACT.

Why stands she near the auction stand, That girl so young and fair; What brings her to this dismal place, Why stands she weeping there?

Why does she raise that bitter cry?

Why hangs her head with shame, As now the auctioneer's rough voice, So rudely calls her name?

But see! she grasps a manly hand, And in a voice so low, As scarcely to be heard, she says, 'My brother, must I go?'

A moment's pause: then midst a wail Of agonizing woe, His answer falls upon the ear, 'Yes, sister, you must go!'

'No longer can my arm defend, No longer can I save My sister from the horrid fate That waits her as a SLAVE!'

Ah! now I know why she is there, She came there to be sold!

That lovely form, that n.o.ble mind, Must be exchanged for gold!

O G.o.d! my every heart-string cries, Dost thou these scenes behold In this our boasted Christian land, And must the truth be told?