Classic Poem

I.

Tell — You have no fears,
My native land!
Then dry your tears,
And draw your brand.
A million made a vow
To free you — Wherefore, now,
Tears again, my native land?

II.

G ENIUS . — I weep not from doubt,
I weep not for dread;
There's strength in your shout,
And trust in your tread.
I weep, for I look for the coming dead,
Who for Liberty's cause shall die;
And I hear a wail from the widow's bed
Come mixed with our triumph-cry.
Though dire my woes, yet how can I
Be calm when I know such suffering's nigh?

III.

Tell . — Death comes to all,
My native land!
Weep not their fall —
A glorious band!
Famine and slavery
Slaughter more cruelly
Than Battle's blood-covered hand!

IV.

G ENIUS . — Yes, and all glory
Shall honour their grave,
With shrine, song, and story,
Denied to the slave.
Thus pride shall so mingle with sorrow,
Their wives half their weeping will stay;
And their sons long to tempt on the morrow
The death they encounter to-day.
Then away, sons, to battle away!
Draw the sword, lift the flag, and away!