Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/47

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I.

And Hofer roused Tyrol for this,

Made Winschgan red with blood,

Thai Botzen's peasants, ranged in arms,

And Inspruck's fire withstood.

For this! for this! that but a third

The hind his own could call,

When Passyer gathered in her sheaves;

Why, ye are robbed of all.

II.

Up rose the hardy mountaineers,

And crushed Bavaria's horse,

I' th' name of Father and of Son,

For this without remorse.

Great Heaven, for this! that Passyer's swains

Of half their store were reft;

Why, clods of senseless clay, to you

Not ev'n an ear is left!

III.

'Midst plenty gushing round, ye starve—

'Midst blessings, crawl accursed,

And hoard for your land cormorants all,

Deep gorging till they burst!

Still—still they spurn you with contempt,

Deride your pangs with scorn;

Still bid you bite the dust for churls,

And villains basely born!