Ere yet my willing voice obeys
The transports of the heart,
The goddess to my view displays
A temple rear'd in ancient days,
Fit subject for the muse's art.
Now, round the world I cast my eye,
With pain, its ruins I descry:
This temple once to Freedom rais'd
Thermopylae! in thy fam'd strait—
I see it to the dust debas'd,
And servile chains, its fate!
In those fair climes, where freedom reign'd,
Two thousand years degrade the Grecian name,
I see them still enslav'd, enchain'd;
But France from Rome and Athens caught the flame—
A temple now to heaven they raise
Where nations bound in ties of peace
With olive-boughs shall throng to praise
The gallant Gaul, that bade all discord cease.
Before this Pantheon, fair and tall,
The piles of darker ages fall,
And freemen here no longer trace
The monuments of man's disgrace:
Before its porch, at Freedom's tree
Exalt the Cap of Liberty,
The cap[A] that once Helvetia knew
(The terror of the tyrant crew)
And on our country's altar trace
The features of each honour'd face—
The men that strove for equal laws,
Or perish'd, martyrs in their cause.
[A] Which owes its origin to William Tell, the famous deliverer of Switzerland.—Freneau's note.
Ye gallant chiefs, above all praise,
Ye Brutuses of ancient days!
Tho' fortune long has strove to blast,
Your virtues are repaid at last.
Your heavenly feasts awhile forbear
And deign to make my song your care;
My lyre a bolder note attains,
And rivals old Tyrtœus' strains;
The ambient air returns the sound,
And kindles rapture all around.
With thee begins the lofty theme,
Eternal Nature—power supreme,
Who planted Freedom in the mind,
The first great right of all mankind:
Too long presumptuous folly dar'd
To veil our race from thy regard;
Tyrants on ignorance form'd their plan,
And made their crimes, the crimes of man,
Let victory but befriend our cause
And reason deign to dictate laws;
And once mankind their rights reclaim
And honour pay to thy great name.—
But O! what cries our joys molest,
What discord drowns sweet music's feast!
What demon, from perdition, leads
Night, fire and thunder o'er our heads!
In northern realms, prepar'd for fight,
A thousand savage clans unite.—
To avenge a faithless Helen's doom
All Europe's slaves, determin'd, come
Freedom's fair fabric to destroy
And wrap in flames our modern Troy!
These these are they—the murdering bands,
Whose blood, of old, distain'd our lands,
By our forefathers chac'd and slain,
The monuments of death remain:
Hungarians, wet with human blood,
Ye Saxons fierce, so oft subdued
By ancient Gauls on Gallic plains,
Dread, dread the race that still remains:
Return, and seek your dark abodes,
Your dens and caves in northern woods,
Nor stay to tell each kindred ghost
What thousands from your tribes are lost.
A friend[B] from hell, of murderous brood,
Stain'd with a hapless husband's blood,
Unites with Danube[C] and the Spree,[C]
Who arm to make the French their prey:
To check their hosts and chill with fear,
Frenchmen, advance to your frontier.
There dig the Eternal Tomb of kings,
Or Poland's fate each monster brings,
Mows millions down, your cause defeats,
And Ismael's horrid scene[D] repeats.
[B] Catharine the 2d, present Empress of Russia, who deposed her husband, Peter the 3d, and deprived him of life in July, 1762, while in prison.—Freneau's note.