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A RUDE REPEAL MELODY.

What? stirring at last, "Old Land!"
And dar'st thou gaze at the sun?
And thy mighty sister looking on!
Why thou hast never a brand,
And slavery hath deformed thee,
And the central heart that warm'd thee
Hath been suck'd dry by thy kindred,
And thy thin white hairs are cinder'd,
Remember, you're but a step-child, Land!
And thy sister flaunts in thy finery grand.


II.

What? standing erect, "Old Land!"
With thy wasted green robe round thee,
Rent with the withes that bound thee.
Art not asham'd, at thy sister's door,
Looking so meagre, squalid, and poor—
Think'st thou she'll stretch thee her hand?
Ha! ha! she'll chain thee and whip thee,
And of thy last garment strip thee.
Down—down, or hide thee or flee
To your lone heritage—slavery.


III.

What? thundering to be heard, "Old Land!"
Ho! bravely and boldly done;
Now! where are thy children gone?
Aye, there; support her—she's weak—
See! see! how her cold limbs shake;
Let her lean on that rusted brand!
"They have treated thee ill!" Old Dame,
And thou blushest with rage and shame—
Thou'rt astir!—a fearful token!
That the o'er-strain'd bow has broken!