What drives him forth from hearth and home?
Perchance he’s banished?—Nevermore!
In yonder land stooped o’er a crutch they walk
(The Germans are too supple in their will),
“Who wants to live,” they’re told, “bend to the yoke!
Shut up! We’ll teach you to be still!”
Freedom of thought in chains is pent,
One may not utter what he thinks,—
His soul perforce is from his body rent,
If pride, awakened, from oppression shrinks.