Part 4 (1/2)

Of blood, of agony, of human tears, The daily sacrifice of countless years-- Are falling: may they fall on every sh.o.r.e, As fell the fiend from Heav'n, no more to rise--no more.

Lx.x.x.

Greece gathers up again her glorious band!

With FREEDOM'S loud hurra the Andes quake!

It swells, like ocean's wave, from land to land-- Bless them, our Father! for thy children's sake.

They strike the n.o.blest who shall strike the first-- Wailing and prostrate, Tyranny accurst, Convulses earth with his fierce agonies; But, if ye strike like men, the fell dictator dies!

Lx.x.xI.

A tear for Poland! many tears for her Who rose so n.o.bly, and so n.o.bly fell!

E'en at her broken shrine, a wors.h.i.+pper, In dust and ashes, let me say farewell!

Farewell! brave spirits!--Earth! and can it be, Thy sons beheld them struggling to be free-- Unaided, saw them in their blood downtrod-- Nations, ye are accurst! be merciful, Oh G.o.d!

Lx.x.xII.

My HOME! it needs no prophet voice to tell Thy coming glories; they are thronging fast, Like the enchantments of the Sybil's cell, Expanding brighter to the very last: Fulfilling all the patriot's burning vow, Be free forever my own land as now!

While the uprising nations hail thy star, And strike, for freedom, that G.o.d-sanctioned war.

Lx.x.xIII.

And they may fall--but who shall date thy end?

Lo! all the past has giv'n its light to thee: Expiring Rome, like a departing friend, Gave solemn warning to thy liberty: And e'en the empires, fabulously old In fruitful fable, have a moral told; What say their fallen kings and shrineless G.o.d?

There is no ”right divine” in the fell tyrant's rod!

Lx.x.xIV.

Thou learn'dst the lesson, long ago, my HOME, And taught'st it to a willing, wondering world, When thy bright stars rose o'er the ocean's foam, And lit thy banner as it stood unfurl'd; When, from thy farthest mountain to the sea, All rose to bless that banner and be free, Where perch'd thy eagle, in victorious might, While the proud, lordly lion fled in craven flight.

Lx.x.xV.

Thou hast my heart--and freely do I bow, To bless thee, Freedom, on thy holiest shrine, And give to thee devotion's warmest vow; Oh! let thy spirit mingle into mine: Thy temple is my country, whose far dome Circles as high as the Almighty's home-- Here, 'mid the glories of Creation's birth, Thy altars spread around--this is my mother earth.

Lx.x.xVI.

Glorious! most glorious! proudly let me stand, With the rapt fervor of a Poet's eye, And pour my blessings on my native land; Oh! for the gift to tell thy destiny, And mould it to the telling--thou should'st rise, Eternal, as the stars that bless thy skies, And sparkle in thy banner--thou should'st be All that thy brave hearts wish'd, who will'd thee to be free.

Lx.x.xVII.

And no portentous, fearful meteor, there, Should blaze, and blacken, and create dismay, Shaking fierce furies from its snaky hair; No!--thou should'st light the Nations on their way, And be to them a watchword to fight well; And should they fall, as Poland's patriots fell.

Oh! cheer them with their exile-flag unfurl'd, And give them freedom here, in her own Western world.

Lx.x.xVIII.

Auspicious Time! unroll the scroll of years-- Behold our pious pilgrim fathers, when They launch'd their little bark and braved all fears, Those peril-seeking, freedom-loving men!

Bless thee, thou Stream! abiding blessings bless Thy farthest wave--Nile of the wilderness!

And be thy broad lands peopled, far and wide, With hearts as free as his who now doth bless thy tide.

Lx.x.xIX.