’Tis your country that calls; shall that cry be in vain?
All bleeding she lies in the conqueror’s chain:
Chiefs! one struggle more, and her freedom is won:
Let us triumph or die, as our fathers have done.
Like the lightning of heaven be your arms on the heath,
Loud, loud ring your shields with the thunder of death:
As the waves of your ocean rush down to the strife,
And each stroke be for Britain,—for freedom and life!
The bard has ceased: the lofty lay
In long vibrations dies away,