Shame! shame!--that the statesman and trickster, forsooth,
Should have for a crisis no other recourse,
Beneath the fair day-spring of light and of truth,
Than the old _brutum fulmen_ of tyranny--force!

From the holes where fraud, falsehood, and hate slink away--
From the crypt in which error lies buried in chains--
This foul apparition stalks forth to the day,
And would ravage the land which his presence profanes.

Could you conquer us, men of the North--could you bring
Desolation and death on our homes as a flood--
Can you hope the pure lily, affection, will spring
From ashes all reeking and sodden with blood?

Could you brand us as villains and serfs, know ye not
What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar?
How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot!
How dearly the Pole loves his father, the Czar!

But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun
Is a _nutrix leonum_, and suckles a race
Strong-armed, lion-hearted, and banded as one,
Who brook not oppression and know not disgrace.

And well may the schemers in office beware
The swift retribution that waits upon crime,
When the lion, RESISTANCE, shall leap from his lair,
With a fury that renders his vengeance sublime.