Where no blood-thirsty hounds ever dare on his track,
At thy stern voice, New England! the monster fell back.
Go back! then, ye blood-hounds, that howl in my path,
In the land of New England I’m free from your wrath,
And the sons of the Pilgrims my deep scars shall see,
Till they cry with one voice, “Let the bondman go free.”
That voice shall roll on, ’mong the hills of the North,
In murmurs more loud till its thunders break forth;
On the wings of the wind shall its deep echoes fly,
Swift as lightning above, from sky e’en to sky,