The Flying Slave.

212

From the Bangor Gazette.
Air: — "To Greece we give our shining blades."

The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free;
His parting word is one short prayer;
Oh God, but give me Liberty!
Farewell — farewell:
Behind I leave the whips and chains,
Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.

One star shines in the heavens above
That guides him on his lonely way; —
Star of the North — how deep his love
For thee, thou star of Liberty!
Farewell — farewell;
Behind he leaves the whips and chains,
Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.