Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/235

Rh The name of Freedom to her glorious struggles;

Yet she but shares with them a common woe,

And called the "kingdom" of a conquering foe,—

But knows what all—and, most of all, we know—

With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles!

IV.

The name of Commonwealth is past and gone

O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe;

Venice is crushed, and Holland deigns to own

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe;

If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone

His chainless mountains, 't is but for a time,

For Tyrranny of late is cunning grown,

And in its own good season tramples down

The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime,

Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean

Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion

Of Freedom, which their fathers fought for, and

Bequeathed—a heritage of heart and hand,

And proud distinction from each other land,

Whose sons must bow them at a Monarch's motion,

As if his senseless sceptre were a wand

Full of the magic of exploded science—

Still one great clime, in full and free defiance,

Yet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime,

Above the far Atlantic!—She has taught

Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag,

The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag,