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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117377" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>New Year's Eve</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Night! with its thousand stars, and the deep hush<br>That makes its darkness solemn! The winds rush<br>In troubled music, o'er the wooded hill,<br>And the wide plain where creeps the fetter'd rill,<br>In wintry silence; but a softer sound<br>Of melody from man's lit halls swells round<br>No slumber yet to-night! the hours fleet on,<br>With converse, song, and laughter's joyous tone;<br>The young and gay are met in social mirth,<br>Or the home circle gathers round the hearth,<br>Or swelling upwards from the house of prayer,<br>The voice of praise concludes the passing year.<br>'T is almost midnight now;—hark! hush!—the bell<br>At once a note of triumph and a knell!<br>A sudden silence—the quick breath quell'd,<br>The speaker's voice in mute suspension held;<br>What thousand thoughts are in that moment press'd—<br>Past, present, future, crowding on the breast,<br>As stroke by stroke tolls on!—and then a start—<br>A sudden lightning of the eye and heart,<br>A burst of joyous greeting—such as here<br>We wish you, friends beloved—a happy year!<br>So speeds time on! scarce seems a moment sped,<br>Since first we hail'd the year that now has fled.<br>So speeds time on—but hath it left no trace,<br>That future hours shall never more efface?<br>Go, turn to Poland! may her sons forget<br>Their desolated fields with carnage wet?<br>Their bright brief hopes,—their struggle, fierce and proud,<br>With the stern despot ‘neath whose yoke they bow'd,<br>The lightning thrill that flash'd through every breast,<br>When wakening freedom waved her eagle crest,<br>Their hopes upspringing almost from despair,<br>And burning with a short illusive glare,<br>Soon to be quench'd in blood? Oh, God of Peace!<br>Must such wild scenes of carnage never cease?<br>Is blood “pour'd out like water,” still to be<br>The price of man's high yearning to be free?<br>Woe for the tyrant's selfishness and pride,<br>That hath to man his holiest rights denied!<br>Is life too poor in ills?—hath death so scant<br>His fearful quiver stored, that man should pant<br>To give the earth red graves? Ah! when shall right<br>Her nobler triumphs seek by moral light,<br>And learn that e'en the sweets of liberty<br>Are bought, with slaughter, at a price too high?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when shall our own banner cease to wave<br>Its starry folds in mockery o'er the slave?<br>Oh! blot upon our land, and heavy shame<br>That e'er Columbia should bear such name!—.<br>That men, like beasts, should be enslaved and sold<br>For a base pittance of mere sordid gold;<br>That women's limbs beneath the scourge should bleed,<br>The swollen pomp of luxury to feed;<br>And in the freest nation known on earth,<br>The licensed thief invade the household hearth;<br>The purest, best affections of the heart,<br>And the strong ties of kindred rend apart,<br>And seizing, fiend-like, on his helpless prey,<br>Tear them forever from their homes away.<br>Oh, when shall tyrants learn that human veins<br>Bear pulses that were never made for chains:<br>And loose their links before the oppress'd one's band<br>Becomes a deadly weapon in his hand!<br>Our brethren found it such;—in southern halls,<br>The cold damp foot of desolation falls;<br>Young gladsome eyes that late were sparkling bright,<br>With the free spirit's joyous gush of light,<br>Mothers made happy by the bursts of glee<br>From the gay creatures grouped about their knee,<br>The brow of hoary eld—all, all are there,<br>With the pale look of anguish and despair:<br>Or, smitten rudely to the reeking earth,<br>Have deluged with their blood their own loved hearth.<br>Alas, alas, for them! alas, for those<br>Who still in white-lipp'd terror wait their foes!<br>And woe for all the oppressors’ haughty guilt,<br>And the fresh blood his vengeful hand hath spilt!<br>Oh, Heaven! in mercy yield them yet a space<br>To speak with tears of penitence thy grace!<br>Touch their steel'd hearts with thy dissolving love,<br>And their vile stains of prejudice remove,<br>That they may learn, upon the negro's face,<br>A brother's lineaments at last to trace;<br>And strike away the soul-degrading chains<br>Which long have hung upon his swollen veins;<br>That mad relentless hatred may no more<br>Flood the red earth with streams of mingled gore,<br>And other new years o'er our country rise,<br>With brighter aspect and more cloudless skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117377" data-title="New Year's Eve de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="Night! with its thousand stars, and the deep hush/That makes its darkness solemn! The winds rush/In troubled music, o'er the wooded hill,/And the wide plain where creeps the fetter'd rill,/In wintry silence; but a softer sound/Of melody from man's..."></div>
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