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Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,

And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

POEMS ON SLAVERY

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

In the spring of 1842 Mr. Longfellow obtained leave of absence from college duties for six months and went abroad to try the virtues of the water-cure at Marienberg on the Rhine. At St. Goar he made an acquaintance with Ferdinand Freiligrath, the poet, which ripened into a life-long friendship. It was to this friend that he wrote shortly after his return to America:

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"Let me take up the golden thread of my adventures where I last dropped it, that is to say in London. I passed a very agreeable fortnight with Dickens. . . . Taking reluctant leave of London, I went by railway to Bath, where I dined with Walter Savage Landor, a rather ferocious critic, — the author of five volumes of Imaginary Conversations. The next day brought me to Bristol, where I embarked in the Great Western steamer for New York. We sailed (or rather, paddled) out in the very teeth of a violent west wind, which blew for a week,- Frau die alte sass gekehrt rückwärts nach Osten' with a vengeance. We had a very boisterous passage. I was not out of my berth more than twelve hours for the first twelve days. I was in the forward part of the vessel, where all the great waves struck and broke

At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found
Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel,
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave.

This note also was prefixed to the little volume. "The following poems, with one exception [The Warning], were written at sea, in the latter part of October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, in testimony of my admiration for a great and good man."

POEMS ON SLAVERY

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING.

THE pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,

My heart, responding, ever said,

"Servant of God! well done!

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Well done! Thy words are great and bold;

At times they seem to me,
Like Luther's, in the days of old,

Half-battles for the free.

Go on, until this land revokes

The old and chartered Lie,

The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes Insult humanity.

A voice is ever at thy side

Speaking in tones of might, Like the prophetic voice, that cried To John in Patmos, "Write!"

Write and tell out this bloody tale;

Record this dire eclipse,

This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,
This dread Apocalypse!

At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found
Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel,
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave.

This note also was prefixed to the little volume. "The following poems, with one exception [The Warning], were written at sea, in the latter part of October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, in testimony of my admiration for a great and good man."

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