OH, sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a while,And Hope,thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression
poured to Northern wars
Her whiskered pandoors
and her fierce hussars;
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet born: Tumultuous Horror brooded o"er her van;Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!
Warsaw"s last champion
from her height surveyed
Wide o"er the fields a waste of ruin laid:
"O Heaven!" he cried, "my bleeding country save! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though Destruction sweep those lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name we wave the sword on high!
And swear for her to live! -with her to die!"He said; and on the rampart-heights arrayed His trusty warriors, -few, but undismayed;Firm-paced, and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, "Revenge or death!" -the watchword and reply; Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!
In vain, alas! -in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew: - Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time!
Sarmatia
fell, unwept, without a crime!
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career: Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell.
And Freedom shrieked-as KOSCIUSKO fell!
The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, - Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air;On Prague"s proud archthe fires of Ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring below;
The storm prevails-the rampart yields a way- Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth shook! red meteors flashed along the sky! And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry!
Departed spirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia"s tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own! Oh! once again to Freedom"s cause returnThe patriot TELL-the BRUCE
of Bannockburn!
- THOMAS CAMPBEL