III.
On its brow a name is written—France read it once before,
And like a demon's compact, it was written in her gore—
A fearful name—thrones trembled as the murmur passed along—
Retribution, proud oppressors, for your centuries of wrong.
From the orient to the ocean, from the palm-tree to the pine,
From Innisfail, by Tagus, to the lordly Appenine—
From Indus to the river by which pale Warsaw bleeds—
Souls are wakening—hands are arming—God is blessing noble deeds.