Oppression, that has belted half the globe,
Far as his knout could reach or dagger probe,
Holds reeking o’er our brother freemen slain
That dagger—shakes it at us in disdain;
Talks big to Freedom’s states of Poland’s thrall,
And, trampling one, contemns them one and all.
My Country! colours not thy once proud brow
At this effront?—Hast thou not fleets enow
With Glory’s streamer, lofty as the lark,
Gay fluttering o’er each thunder-bearing bark,