Of bigots and of slaves,
But mine shall be a chainless heart
Upon the dark blue waves.

For thee our sires have fought and died,
For thee their blood have given,
When tyrants o'er the trampled field
Like thunder-clouds were driven.

And has the purple tide in vain,
From hill and vale been poured,
Or do the hopes of Freedom sleep
With mighty Mina's sword?

Oh! no--the trumpet-voice of war,
Shall proudly sound again,
And millions shall obey its call,
And break their chartered chain!

Till then, my native hearth and home
I'll joyfully resign;
Farewell! thou song-enchanted land
Of myrtle and of vine.

_Deal_. G.K.C.


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