The shame, the scourge, the terror of their race,
Those demons in earth’s holy dwelling-place.
Thou noble soul!—around thee gathered those
Who, poor and trampled patriots, were like thee.
Thou art not dead!—thy martyred spirit glows
In us, a band devoted of the free;
We best can celebrate thy natal day,
By virtues, valours, such as marked thy way.
WILLIAM MACCALL.