That line, whose fostering and paternal sway
So many an age thy grateful children blest.
The yoke is broken now!—a mightier hand
Hath dash’d—in pieces dash’d—the iron rod.
To meet her princes, the delivered land
Pours her rejoicing multitudes abroad;
The happy bells, from every town and tower,
Roll their glad peals upon the joyful wind;
And from all hearts and tongues, with one consent,
The high thanksgiving strain is sent—