The flame that shall avenge their doom!
This is no land for chains—away!
O’er softer climes let tyrants sway.
Think’st thou the mountain and the storm
Their hardy sons for bondage form?
Doth our stern wintry blast instil
Submission to a despot’s will?
No! we were cast in other mould
Than theirs by lawless power controll’d;
The nurture of our bitter sky