And Despotism trembles at thy thunder-peal.
Methinks thy sun-rise now is lighting up
The far horizon of yon hemisphere
With golden lightning. O’er the hoary top
Of the blue mountain see I not appear
Thy lovely dawn; while Pain, and crouching Fear,
And Slavery perish under tottering thrones?
How long, oh Liberty! until we hear
Instead of an insulted people’s moans,
The crushed and writhing tyrants uttering their groans?