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,