The liberty minstrel — Context and Discussion

Tasso was an Italian poet of great merit, who was for many years deprived of liberty, and subjected to severe trials and misfortunes by the jealousy and cruelty of his patron, the Duke of Ferrara. That master-piece of music, so justly admired and so much sung by the high and low throughout all Italy, had its origin in the wrongs of Tasso. An ardent love of humanity--a deep consciousness of the injustice of slavery--a heart full of sympathy for the oppressed, and a due appreciation of the blessings of freedom, has given birth to the poetry comprising this volume. I have long desired to see these sentiments of love, of sympathy, of justice and humanity, so beautifully expressed in poetic measure, embalmed in sweet music; so that _all the people_--the rich, the poor, the young, and the old, who have hearts to feel, and tongues to move, may sing of the wrongs of slavery, and the blessings of liberty, until every human being shall recognise in his fellow an _equal_;--"a MAN and a BROTHER." Until by familiarity with these sentiments, and their influence upon their _hearts_, _the people_, whose _duty it is_, shall "undo the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free."

I announced, sometime since, my intention of publishing such a work. Many have been impatiently waiting its appearance. I should have been glad to have issued it and scattered it like leaves of the forest over the land, long ago, but circumstances which I could not control, have prevented. I purpose to enlarge the work from time to time, as circumstances may require.

Let associations of singers, having the love of liberty in their hearts, be immediately formed in every community. Let them study thoroughly, and make themselves perfectly familiar with both the poetry and the music, and enter into the _sentiment_ of the piece they perform, that they may _impress it_ upon their hearers. Above all things, let the enunciation of every word be _clear_ and _distinct_. Most of the singing of the present day, is entirely too artificial, stiff and mechanical. It should be easy and natural; flowing directly from the soul of the performer, without affectation or display; and then singing will answer its true end, and not only please the _ear_, but affect and improve the _heart_.

To the true friends of universal freedom, the LIBERTY MINSTREL is respectfully dedicated.

Words by Whittier. Music by G.W. Clark.

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings, Where the fever demon strews Poison with the falling dews, Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air, Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters, Woe is me my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, There no mother's eye is near them, There no mother's ear can hear them; Never when the torturing lash Seams their back with many a gash, Shall a mother's kindness bless them, Or a mother's arms caress them. Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters, Woe is me my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, From the fields at night they go, Faint with toil, and rack'd with pain, To their cheerless homes again-- There no brother's voice shall greet them-- There no father's welcome meet them.--_Gone, &c._

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From the tree whose shadow lay On their childhood's place of play-- From the cool spring where they drank-- Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank-- From the solemn house of prayer, And the holy counsels there.--_Gone, &c._

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, Toiling through the weary day, And at night the Spoiler's prey; Oh, that they had earlier died, Sleeping calmly, side by side, Where the tyrant's power is o'er, And the fetter galls no more!--_Gone, &c._

Gone, gone--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, By the holy love He beareth-- By the bruised reed He spareth-- Oh, may He, to whom alone All their cruel wrongs are known, Still their hope and refuge prove, With a more than mother's love.--_Gone, &c._

WHAT MEANS THAT SAD AND DISMAL LOOK?

Words by Geo. Russell. Arranged from "Near the Lake," by G.W.C.

What means that sad and dismal look, And why those falling tears? No voice is heard, no word is spoke, Yet nought but grief appears.