Slaves! ’twas your choice thus, rather thus, to die,
Than where the warrior’s blood flows warm and fast,
And roused and mighty hearts beat proudly to the last!
XCIII.
Oh! well doth freedom battle! Men have made,
E’en midst their blazing roofs, a noble stand,
And on the floors, where once their children play’d,
And by the hearths, round which their household band
At evening met; ay, struggling hand to hand,
Within the very chambers of their sleep,