Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/166

130 No, she stirs!—There's a fire in her glance, Ware, oh ware of that broken sword! What, dare ye for an hour's mischance, Gather around her, jeering France, Attila's own exultant horde?

Lo, she stands up,—stands up e'en now, Strong once more for the battle-fray, Gleams bright the star, that from her brow Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow, Let her again lead on the way!