Ode for General Washington's Birthday

No Spartan tube, no Attic shell,  No lyre Aeolian I awake;  'Tis liberty's bold note I swell,  Thy 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 brav'd,  They shout-a People freed! They hail an Empire saved.  Where is man's god-like form?  Where is that brow erect and bold-  That eye that can unmov'd behold  The wildest rage, the loudest storm  That e'er created fury dared to raise? <BR> Avaunt! thou caitiff, servile, base, <BR> That tremblest at a despot's nod, <BR> Yet, crouching under the iron rod, <BR> Canst laud the hand that struck th' insulting blow! <BR> Art thou of man's Imperial line? <BR> Dost boast that countenance divine? <BR> Each skulking feature answers, No! <BR> But come, ye sons of Liberty, <BR> Columbia's offspring, brave as free, <BR> In danger's hour still flaming in the van, <BR> Ye know, and dare maintain, the Royalty of Man! <BR><BR>

Alfred! on thy starry throne, <BR> Surrounded by the tuneful choir, <BR> The bards that erst have struck the patriot lyre, <BR> And rous'd the freeborn Briton's soul of fire, <BR> No more thy England own! <BR> Dare injured nations form the great design, <BR> To make detested tyrants bleed? <BR> Thy England execrates the glorious deed! <BR> Beneath her hostile banners waving, <BR> Every pang of honour braving, <BR> England in thunder calls, "The tyrant's cause is mine!" <BR> That hour accurst how did the fiends rejoice <BR> And hell, thro' all her confines, raise the exulting voice, <BR> That hour which saw the generous English name <BR> Linkt with such damned deeds of everlasting shame! <BR><BR>

Thee, Caledonia! thy wild heaths among, <BR> Fam'd for the martial deed, the heaven-taught song, <BR> To thee I turn with swimming eyes; <BR> Where is that soul of Freedom fled? <BR> Immingled with the mighty dead, <BR> Beneath that hallow'd turf where Wallace lies <BR> Hear it not, Wallace! in thy bed of death. <BR> Ye babbling winds! in silence sweep, <BR> Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, <BR> Nor give the coward secret breath! <BR> Is this the ancient Caledonian form, <BR> Firm as the rock, resistless as the storm? <BR> Show me that eye which shot immortal hate, <BR> Blasting the despot's proudest bearing; <BR> Show me that arm which, nerv'd with thundering fate, <BR> Crush'd Usurpation's boldest daring!- <BR> Dark-quench'd as yonder sinking star, <BR> No more that glance lightens afar; <BR> That palsied arm no more whirls on the waste of war. <BR>