Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/49

Rh  Swear, that ye will not tread A foreign soil!—but 'neath the invader's frown, Upon the earth ye till'd will stretch ye down, And pine away beneath your own dear sky.— Swear! on your children's lands to die,— Swear! that your bones shall rest where your dead fathers lie."

Deep moan'd their oath upon the blast, Red, straining eyes to Heaven were cast, And when those iron foreheads press'd the sod, It seem'd as if stern spirits breathed their last Into the ear of God.— Back to their lowly homes they turn'd,   A noble race! though crush'd and spurn'd;   Yet heard He not their voice that day Who hates the oppressor's sway,— Bids the lone valleys rise, and mountain-billows stay!—

 

I hear the shouts at Mizpeh. Wild they swell Upon the summer air,—and the green hills Methinks do clap their hands and echo forth "God save the King!"— I thought that God was King Of Israel;—He who snatch'd them from the chains Of their swarth house of bondage, through the wild Their footsteps marshall'd,—gave their murmuring lips The bread of heaven, and led them to a land 