Poetry

The following lines, touching and sadly beautiful, were written by our friend Charles T. Torrey when in 1843 he visited Niagara, and crossed to the Canada shore. Looking back upon his dearly loved native land, he gave expression to his thoughts in these verses. They will have an interest apart from their intrinsic worth, as one of the last efforts of that fine intellect which now lies quenched in the dungeon. J. G. W. Oh land of my fathers! The land of my pride! Thy shame and thy weakness, Oh where wilt thou hide! My country, my country, I weep over thee, Thou land of the bond slave, Thou scorn of the free! The cry of the widow, The sighs of the weak, The tears of the helpless For vengeance shall seek. My country, my country, The Iand of my pride, The Judge of the helpless, How wilt thou abide! Thy sons are in fetters, Their manhood is gone, Thy daughters in chains, curse The hour they were bom. My country, my country, How mourn I for thee, The day of His Justice, Oh how wilt thou flee! Thy Bibles- thy fetters! Thy Sabbaths- thy whips! Thy boastings of freedom, With pale, lying lips; My country, my country, Thy glory is gone; True manhood abhors thee, Pure woman doth scorn! Oh land of my fathers, How long I for thee, Thy dark sons and daughters In freedom to see! My country, my country, Arise and be free Thy sons, then, no longer Shall weep over thee!