The clash of chains has wakened me, the beautiful dream is effaced,
So sadly interchanged, by the present shame and woe replaced.—
But no! ’Twas not a mere illusion of my o’er-yearning dream.
I know that the morning star of those better days will yet gleam;
That the greater part of that vision’s splendor will be fulfilled,
Though from my aged neck to shake the yoke, I shall not be willed.
My silvery gray head will bow unto the dust of a slave;
Slaves too will cast the handful of earth to my fetters in my grave.
But, you, O younger comrades, ere your course shall know time no more,
You shall ascend with happy tread upon freedom’s sunny shore.