Classic Poem

The Freeman's glittering sword be blest, —
Forever blest the Freeman's lyre, —
That rings upon the tyrant's crest,
This stirs the hearts like living fire:
Well can he wield the shining brand,
Who battles for his native land;
But when his fingers sweep the chords,
That summon heroes to the fray,
They gather at the feast of swords,
Like mountain eagles to their prey!

And 'mid the vales and swelling hills,
That sweetly bloom in Freedom's land,
A living spirit breathes and fills
The Freeman's heart and nerves his hand:
For the bright soil that gave him birth,
The home of all he loves on earth, —
For this , when Freedom's trumpet calls,
He waves on high his sword of fire, —
For this , amidst his country's halls
Forever strikes the freeman's lyre!

His burning heart he may not lend
To serve a doting despot's sway, —
A suppliant knee he will not bend,
Before these things of " brass and clay. "
When wrong and ruin call to war,
He knows the summons from afar;
On high his glittering sword he waves,
And myriads feel the freeman's fire,
While he, around their fathers' graves,
Strikes to old strains the Freeman's lyre!