ODE TO THE GERMANS.

The Spirit of Britannia

Invokes across the main,

Her sister Allemania

To burst the Tyrant's chain;

By our kindred blood she cries,

Rise Allemanians, rise,

And hallowed thrice the band

Of our kindred hearts shall be,

When your land shall be the land

Of the free—of the free!

With Freedom's lion-banner

Britannia rules the waves

Whilst your BROAD STONE OF HONOUR ^[2]

Is still the camp of slaves.

For shame, for glory's sake,

Wake, Allemanians, wake,

And the tyrants now that whelm

Half the world, shall quail and flee,

When your realm shall be the realm

Of the free—of the free!

Mars owes to you his thunder ^[3]

That shakes the battle-field,

Yet to break your bonds asunder

No martial bolt has peal'd.

Shall the laurell'd land of Art

Wear shackles on her heart?

No! the clock ye framed to tell

By its sound, the march of time,

Let it clang Oppression's knell

O'er your clime—o'er your clime!

The Press's magic letters

That blessing ye brought forth,

Behold! it lies in fetters

On the soil that gave it birth:

But the trumpet must be heard

And the charger must be spurr'd;

For your father Armin's Sprite

Calls down from heaven, that ye

Shall gird you for the fight

And be free!—and be free!

Metropolitan.