Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1835.pdf/35



I will speak softly, till our gathered strength Finds in its union voice. Ah, no delay! The tyranny that dared to fetter wears A midnight dagger. As the evening shades Darken around, my spirit darkens too. I dread the night. But let us now disperse, Each calling on his friends: let each one seek His ancient sword. Here let our meeting be! The market-place will hold our generous crowd Our stream will carry all before its tide. The enemy will falter, and then yield. They have but hired guards to meet our might— Soldiers against the people! they'll not stand. Count Egmont, he will marshal our return. Free, he will thank us for it—we, who owe So vast a debt to him. Ah, he may see— He will see morning redden the free sky!

What mean you, maiden ? Hear ye not my words? I speak of Egmont.

Name not his fatal name! Not name that name! his name! Why it must come, If but from common custom to the lip.