从自由的北部山岗上呼啸而过，向南呼啸而过，从马萨诸塞湾向弗吉尼亚致以问候:没有傲慢的挑衅，没有战号的轰鸣，没有行进的纵队的稳健的脚步声，没有骑兵的铿锵声，没有在我们的公路上隆隆行进的大炮;我们沉默的军火库周围是未被践踏的积雪;在我们港口的陆风中，在他们遥远的任务中，一千只商业的风帆膨胀，但没有一个是为了战争而展开的。我们听到了你的威胁，弗吉妮娅!你狂风暴雨的话语和汹涌的波涛，猛烈地拍打着南风，在我们的天空融化;然而，没有一个棕色的、勤劳的手在这里放弃他诚实的劳动，没有一个山上橡树的伐木工因为害怕而放下他的斧头。猛烈的海浪拍打着圣乔治岸边的礁石;拉布拉多的海岸很冷，雾气又白又潮湿;穿过风暴，波浪，和眩目的雾，人的心是坚强的。马布尔黑德的捕鱼风，安角的海船。寒冷的北光和冬日的阳光照耀着它们冰冷的身躯，它们冷酷地弯着腰，紧绷着线条，或与风暴搏斗; Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam, They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their rocky home. What means the Old Dominion? Hath she forgot the day When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array? How, side by side with sons of hers, the Massachusetts men Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then? Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall? When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath Of Northern winds the thrilling sounds of 'Liberty or Death!' What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved False to their fathers' memory, false to the faith they loved; If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn, Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn? We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell; Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell; We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves, From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves! Thank God! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow; The spirit of her early time is with her even now; Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow and calm and cool, She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool! All that a sister State should do, all that a free State may, Heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our early day; But that one dark loathsome burden ye must stagger with alone, And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown! Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's free air With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild despair; Cling closer to the 'cleaving curse' that writes upon your plains The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains. Still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old, By watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold; Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market value, when The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den! Lower than plummet soundeth, sink the Virginia name; Plant, if ye will, your fathers' graves with rankest weeds of shame; Be, if ye will, the scandal of God's fair universe; We wash our hands forever of your sin and shame and curse. A voice from lips whereon the coal from Freedom's shrine hath been, Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain men: The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill. And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of gray, How, through the free lips of the son, the father's warning spoke; How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke! A hundred thousand right arms were lifted up on high, A hundred thousand voices sent back their loud reply; Through the thronged towns of Essex the startling summons rang, And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics sprang! The voice of free, broad Middlesex, of thousands as of one, The shaft of Bunker calling to that Lexington; From Norfolk's ancient villages, from Plymouth's rocky bound To where Nantucket feels the arms of ocean close to her round; From rich and rural Worcester, where through the calm repose Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows, To where Wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of 'God save Latimer!' And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt sea spray; And Bristol sent her answering shout down Nar