John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit
Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone?
Sons of old freemen, do we but inherit
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UP, laggards of Freedom! — our free flag is cast
To the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast;
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THE SUNLIGHT glitters keen and bright,
Where, miles away,
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight
A luminous belt, a misty light,
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The tent-lights glimmer on the land,
The ship-lights on the sea;
The night-wind smooths with drifting sand
Our track on lone Tybee.
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Long since, a dream of heaven I had,
And still the vision haunts me oft;
I see the saints in white robes clad,
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The name the Gallic exile bore,
St. Malo! from thy ancient mart,
Became upon our Western shore
Greenleaf for Feuillevert.
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I. NOON.
White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep,
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep
The sunshine on the hills asleep!
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To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise today,
From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked the spoil away;
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Dry the tears for holy Eva,
With the blessed angels leave her;
Of the form so soft and fair
Give to earth the tender care.
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OUR fellow-countrymen in chains!
Slaves, in a land of light and law!
Slaves, crouching on the very plains
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