2
O Tiber, | Father Tiber |
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, | a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge | this day |
3
O Rome! | my country! | city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart | must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! | and control
In their shut breasts | their petty misery.
4
Ring joyous chords!— | ring out again!
A swifter still | and a wilder strain!
And bring fresh wreaths!— | we will banish all
Save the free in heart | from our banquet hall.
5
O joy to the people | and joy to the throne,
Come to us, | love us | and make us your own:
For Saxon | or Dane | or Norman | we,
Teuton or Celt, | or what ever we be,
We are all of us Danes | in our welcome of thee, Alexandra!
6
Liberty! | Freedom! | Tyranny is dead!—
Run hence, | proclaim, | cry it about the streets.
Some to the common pulpits, | and cry out,
"Liberty, | freedom, | and enfranchisement!"