Through many a bloody fray;
[p17]
And where the stern old Pilgrim prayed
In solitude and gloom,
Where the bold Patriot drew his blade,
And dared a patriot’s doom—
Behold! in liberty’s unclouded blaze,
We lift our heads, a race of other days.
XXIII.
All gone! the wild beast’s lair is trodden out;
Proud temples stand in beauty there;