Freedom.

W

HO dare reverse the glorious plan
Of Him who Freedom gave,
Who never made his creature man

To be a crouching slave?
As waves majestic chainless roll

When tempests sweep the sea;

So, with his mind and deathless soul,

Man is created free.

But yet cloud-cradled lightnings sleep,

And thunderbolts repose,

While millions slaughtered kindred weep

In agonizing woes.

And tyrants laugh where Freedom dies,

And songs exulting sing;

While widows' wails and orphans' cries

Make vale and mountain ring.

Shall stern Oppression, wrapt in gloom, Its purple course still run,

And make Earth but a hopeless tomb

Revolving round the sun?

Forbid, Great God of Truth and Grace! Thine awful vengeance spare;

But speed the time when all our race True happiness may share.

Immortal Freedom! stand thou forth,

Thy potent sceptre wield, That it may be to moral worth

A buckler and a shield.

Let Virtue on thy standard shine,

And Truth, the fairest gem

That e'er was formed by Power divine, Adorn thy diadem.

Let Justice mark thy grand career,
Man's welfare be thine end,

That in his breast love, hope, and fear,
Like rainbow hues, may blend.
No more let ruffian hands profane
The temples thou hast built,
Nor yet thy sacred altars stain
With marks of scarlet guilt.

Thy blessings rich diffuse to all;
Let War's dread trumpet cease,

And freemen gather at thy call
To welcome smiling Peace.

But while thy sons their fealty swear,
And round thy banner cling,

Let not Ambition discord e'er

Into thy councils fling.

Lands of the earth in love unite.
And bow to Reason's sway;

Then systems false, upheld by might,
Shall swiftly pass away.

No more shall rage the fearful storm That steeps the world in blood, For mankind will sublimely form One glorious brotherhood.

Poland.

S the sun-light expires at the parting of day,
So the light of thy beauty hath faded away;
The harps of thy minstrels are still as the grave,
No more may they ring to the call of the brave;
For Freedom and Mercy have fled from thy plains,
And naught save the wreck of thy splendor remains.

Thy vales, that have pealed to the conflict aloud,

And thy mountains and streams, have been crimsoned with blood.

Mid the turmoil and tempest of carnage and woe,
Thy proud eagle soared, and long baffled the foe,

Till Oppression's black banner hung dismally o'er thee

And Hope on the field lay expiring before thee!

The mother hath kneeled for the life of her child,
And the cry of the maiden been frantic and wild;
But the merciless vulture hath pounced on his prey,
And the breeze swept their soul-piercing wailings away.

The hearts of the slaughtered have bled to the core, And that which was Poland is Poland no more!

Shall thy children forever be wedded to pain?
Shall thy exiles ne'er look on their country again?
And wilt thou forever be deluged with blood,
Nor the cry of thy vanquished ascend unto God?
Oh! would that the clouds of his thunder might rend,
And wrath in a chariot of lightning descend!

The voice of her anguish hath rung to the sky-
Oh! yet let the tide of roused feeling roll high,
As wave follows wave on the wide-heaving main,
Till that which was Poland be Poland again;
Till Heaven's bright sceptre shall scatter the gloom,
And Freedom, triumphant, arise from her tomb!