But they shall not to slavery doom us:
If they rule, it shall be o’er our ashes and graves;
But we’ve smote them already with fire on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before us,
To the charge!—Heaven’s banner is o’er us.
This day shall ye blush for its story,
Or brighten your lives with its glory.
Our women, oh, say, shall they shriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed may his memory blacken,