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Go down to after days?—Oh, friends! a cause Like that for which we rise, hath made bright names Of the elder time as rallying-words to men, Sounds full of might and immortality! And shall not ours be such?

Fond dreamer, peace! Fame! What is fame?—Will our unconscious dust Start into thrilling rapture from the grave, At the vain breath of praise?—I tell thee, youth, Our souls are parch'd with agonizing thirst, Which must be quench'd tho' death were in the draught: We must have vengeance, for our foes have left No other joy unblighted.

Oh! my son, The time is past for such high dreams as thine. Thou know' st not whom we deal with. Knightly faith, And chivalrous honour, are but things whereon They cast disdainful pity. We must meet Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge. And, for our names—whate'er the deeds, by which We burst our bondage—is it not enough That in the chronicle of days to come, We, thro' a bright 'For Ever,' shall be call'd The men who saved their country?

Many a land Hath bow'd beneath the yoke, and then arisen, As a strong lion rending silken bonds, And on the open field, before high heaven, Won such majestic vengeance, as hath made Its name a power on earth.—Ay, nations own