Will make no covenant with these accursed,
But that the sword shall be from this day forth
Thy children’s portion, to be handed down
From sire to son, a sacred heritage,
Through every generation, till the work
Be done, and this insulted land hath drunk
In sacrifice, the last invader’s blood!
Bear witness, ancient Mountains! cried the youth,
And ye, my native Streams, who hold your course
For ever; ... this dear Earth, and yonder Sky,