Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/351



ye the sword! let the death-stroke be given, Oh! swift may it fall as the lightning of Heaven! So shall our spirits be free as our strains, The children of song may not languish in chains!

Have ye not trampled our country's bright crest? Are heroes reposing in death on her breast? Red with their blood do her mountain-streams flow, And think ye that still we would linger below?