They rallied — for 'twas Freedom's blast,
Came echoing long, and loud, and fast,
Stirring each nerve to might:
Dead to all sounds but that, they rose,
And rained destruction on their foes,
While Hope's sweet star grew bright.

But sudden, as a magic spell,
That guiding star they loved so well,
Eclipsed its fostering ray,
And the warm blood that high could mount,
Went eddying backward to its found,
Chilled in its bounding way.

Brave hearts! and is your labor o'er?
And must they over-run your shore,
Those myrmidons of power?
And must they gloat upon the prize,
While ye behold with weeping eyes,
How vultures can devour?

Courage! gigantic souls! though dark,
Freedom reserves a latent spark ,
Though unobserved it lie;
And when the shadows heaviest fall,
Phosphoric light illumes the pall,
And kindles up the sky.

The half-formed wish of craven men,
May start impulsively — and then,
Go flickering out at last;
But stern resolve is Vulcan's flame,
Smothered — concealed — yet still the same,
And waiting for the blast.

Go, choke the sunbeams as they glide,
Go, bind with chaff old Ocean's tide,
And hope success to meet;
But stand aloof, when comes the day,
That chains from Patriots melt away,
And Despots kiss their feet.