Page:National Lyrics.pdf/33

Rh

With the offering of bright blood They have ransomed hearth and tomb, Vineyard, and field, and flood;— Io! they come, they come!

Sing it where olives wave, And by the glittering sea, And o'er each hero's grave,— Sing, sing, the land is free!

Mark ye the flashing oars, And the spears that light the deep? How the festal sunshine pours Where the lords of battle sweep!

Each hath brought back his shield;— Maid, greet thy lover home! Mother, from that proud field, Io! thy son is come!