It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free:

For the cross of our faith is replanted,

The pale dying crescent is daunted,

And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's slaves
May be wash'd out in blood from our forefathers' graves.

Their spirits are hovering o'er us

And the sword shall to glory restore us.

Ah! what though no succour advances,

Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances

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10

Are stretch'd in our aid-Be the combat our own!
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone;

For we've swore by our country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've dragg'd from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That, living, we shall be victorious,

Or that, dying, our death shall be glorious.

A breath of submission we breathe not:

The sword we've drawn we will sheathe not!
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us,
But they shall not to slavery doom us:

If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves :
But we've smote them already with fire on the waves,

And new triumphs on land are before us;

To the charge! -Heaven's banner is o'er us.

This day shall ye blush for its story,

Or brighten your lives with its glory.

Our women, O, say, shall they shriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed may his memory blacken,

If a coward there be that would slacken

Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
Being sprung from, and named for, the godlike of earth!
Strike home! and the world shall revere us

As heroes descended from heroes.

Old Greece lightens up with emotion

Her inlands, her isles of the ocean;

Fanes rebuilt and fair towns, shall with jubilee ring,
And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring:
Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness,

That were cold, and extinguished in sadness;

Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms,
Singing joy to the brave that deliver'd their charms,
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens

Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens!

5

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass'd by -

Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun,

Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou ten thousand thousand years

Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;