Page:National Lyrics.pdf/293

Rh

Arm, arm, free hunters! for the chase, The kingly chase of foes; 'Tis not the bear or wild wolf's race, Whose trampling shakes the snows; Arm, arm! 'tis on a nobler trace The northern spearman goes.

Our hills have dark and strong defiles, With many an icy bed; Heap there the rocks for funeral piles, Above the invader's head! Or let the seas, that guard our Isles, Give burial to his dead!