Only in the deep sea thunder of the waves on Plum Island beach could he have heard such notes as echoed in "The Tocsin":
"Ay—slaves of slaves. What, sleep ye yet,
And dream of freedom while ye sleep?
Ay, dream while slavery's foot is set
So firmly on your necks, while deep
The chain her quivering flesh endures
Gnaws likes a cancer into yours!"
It is easy to see him striding home from a session with the Plum Island waves and pausing to see the snow settle on and blot out the outlines of the peaceful marshes, drawing from the sight his best-remembered, most-quoted verse:
"A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod,
But executes the freeman's will
As lightnings do the will of God;
And from its force nor doors nor locks
Can shield you; 'tis the ballot box."
I do not know if he wrote these lines here or later when he had become one of Boston's famous preachers, but I do know that he saw these things in the years that he lived in the fine old town and
