Thy mercies too—ay, prate of such to me!
I know them well—the halter and the tree!
Thou, loathed by all—by every heart accurst—
But words are idle—do thy best—or worst!
Dear friends, once more, one closing stroke with me,
For home, for Liberty—we will be free!”
Hark! was’t a wandering echo that brought back
That shout returning on its airy track?
Do my ears mock me—heard I not the sound
Of trampling hoofs that shake the solid ground?