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It is your banner in the skies, Through each dark cloud which breaks, And mantles, with triumphal dyes, Your thousand hills and lakes!

A sound is on the breeze, A murmur, as of swelling seas! The Saxon on his way! Lo! spear, and shield, and lance, From Deva's waves, with lightning glance, Reflected to the day! But who the torrent-wave compels A conqueror's chain to bear? Let those who wake the soul that dwells On our free winds, beware! The greenest and the loveliest dells, May be the lion's lair!

Of us they told, the seers And monarch-bards of elder years, Who walk'd on earth, as pow'rs!