Bid every child of thine rejoice;
Still let me see on yonder mast
The banner of the heart unfurl’d—
The playmate of the ocean-blast,
The hope or terror of the world.
And when the minstrel’s form is cold,
His brightest meed of praise shall be,
As o’er his grave yon starry fold
By wind and tempest is unroll’d,
“Freedom! thy minstrel sang of thee!”