ve 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.

G.W. CLARK.

NEW YORK, Oct. 1844.

THE

LIBERTY MINSTREL.

GONE, SOLD AND GONE.

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

[Music]

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