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- No Spartan tube, no Attic shell,
- No lyre Aeolian I awake.
- It is Liberty's bold note I swell:
- Your harp, Columbia, let me take!
- See gathering thousands, while I sing,
- A broken chain, exulting, bring
- And dash it in a tyrant's face,
- And dare him to his very beard,
- And tell him he no more is feared,
- No more the despot of Columbia's race!
- A tyrant's proudest insults braved,
- ! They shout a People freed! They hail an Empire saved!
- Where is man's godlike form?
- Where is that brow erect and bold,
- That eye that can unmoved behold
- The wildest rage, the loudest storm
- That ever created Fury dared to raise?
- Avaunt! you caitiff, servile, base,
- That trembles at a despot's nod,
- Yet, crouching under the iron rod,
- Can laud the arm that struck the insulting blow!
- Are you of man's Imperial line?
- Do you boast that countenance divine?
- Each skulking feature answers: No!
- But come, you sons of Liberty,
- Columbia's offspring, brave and free,
- In danger's hour still flaming in the van,
- You know, and dare maintain, The Royalty of Man!
- Alfred on your starry throne
- Surrounded by the tuneful choir,
- The Bards that at first have struck the patriot lyre,
- And roused the freeborn Briton's soul of fire,
- No more your England own!
- Dare injured nations form the great design
- To make detested tyrants bleed?
- Your England execrates the glorious deed!
- Beneath her hostile banners waving,
- Every pang of honour braving,
- England in thunder calls: ' The Tyrant's cause is mine!'
- That hour accursed how did the fiends rejoice,
- And Hell through all her confines raise the exalting voice!
- That hour which saw the generous English name
- Linked with such damned deeds of everlasting shame!
- You, Caledonia, your wild heaths among,
- Famed for the martial deed, the heaven-taught song,
- To you I turn with swimming eyes!
- Where is that soul of Freedom fled?
- Intermingled with the mighty dead
- Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace lies!
- Hear it not, Wallace, in your bed of death!
- You babbling winds, in silence sweep!
- Disturb not you the hero's sleep,
- Nor give the coward secret breath!
- In this the ancient Caledonian form,
- Firm as her rock, resistless as her storm?
- Show me that eye which shot immortal hate,
- Blasting the Despot's proudest bearing!
- Show me that arm which, nerved with thundering fate,
- Braved Usurpation's boldest daring!
- Dark-quenched as yonder sinking star,
- No more that glance lightens afar,
- That palsied arm no more whirls on the waste of war.
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