THE FLYING SLAVE.
Air—To Greece we give our shining blades.
The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free;
His parting word is one short prayer;
O God, but give me Liberty!
Farewell—farewell;
Behind I leave the whips and chains,
Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.
One star shines in the heavens above,
That guides him on his lonely way;—
Star of the North—how deep his love
For thee, thou star of Liberty!
Farewell—farewell;
Behind he leaves the whips and chains,
Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.