Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The American Patriot's Song
The American Patriot's Song.
Hark! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions
Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea,
With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions?
'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free!
Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea,
With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions?
'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free!
Behold on yon summits where Heaven has throned her,
How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat;
With Nature's impregnable ramparts around her,
And the cataracts thunder and foam at her feet!
How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat;
With Nature's impregnable ramparts around her,
And the cataracts thunder and foam at her feet!
In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken,
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior-song
From the rock to the valley re-echo, "Awaken,
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long!"
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior-song
From the rock to the valley re-echo, "Awaken,
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long!"
Yes, Despots! too long did your tyranny hold us;
In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known;
Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us
Were forged by the fears of its captives alone.
In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known;
Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us
Were forged by the fears of its captives alone.
That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing,
Despised as detested—pause well ere ye dare
To cope with a people whose spirit and feeling
Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair.
Despised as detested—pause well ere ye dare
To cope with a people whose spirit and feeling
Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair.
Go tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw
The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines them;
But presume not again to give Freemen a law,
Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them.
The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines them;
But presume not again to give Freemen a law,
Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them.
To hearts that the spirit of Liberty flushes,
Resistance is idle—and numbers a dream;—
They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes
From its fetters of ice in the warmth of the beam.
Resistance is idle—and numbers a dream;—
They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes
From its fetters of ice in the warmth of the beam.