And by whom the Land's great debt was paid Shrink, Pity, shrink, at the question dire; Turn, Angel, turn, from the page thine eyes, They were men of the land he had fought to save They were sons of a clime whose soft, warm breath Where the falling leaf is the cup that grew But there lurked a taint in the clime so blest, Were the clank of chains on a low-browed Slave. AVENGED! The Soldier old, at his sentry-post, He cried to the land, Beware! Beware Of the symboled curse in the Bondman there! He cried; and the ingrate answer came Oh, matchless deed! that a fiend might scorn; Is 't strange that the tranquil soul of age Is't strange that the clank of the Helot's chain Should drive the Wrong to the old man's brain, 49 To fire his heart with a Santon's zeal, And mate his arm to the Soldier's steel? The bane of Wrong to its depth had gone, And the old man armed him but to die. Ye may call him mad that he did not quail But the Eye of God looked down and saw And black was the day with God's own frown Apostate clime! the blood then shed Behold the price of the life ye took; At the death ye gave 't was a world that shook : AVENGED! Not all alone did the victim fall, Whose wrongs first brought him to your thrall: And ye struck your blow at the Nation's heart! The freemen host is at your door, 51 And a voice goes forth with a stern "No more!" To the Country's Wrong and the Country's Stain, From the East and West and North they come, A form that was born when the Old Man died! The Soldier old in his grave may rest, He may sleep in peace 'neath the greenwood pall, For the land's great heart hath heard his call; 52 FLAG OF THE CONSTELLATION. And a people's Will and a people's Might Shall right the Wrong and proclaim the Right. The foe may howl at the fiat just, And gnash his fangs in the trodden dust; And the Freeman's heel is on his track. Not all in vain is the lesson taught, That a great soul's Dream is the world's New And the Scaffold marked with a death sublime FLAG OF THE CONSTELLATION. BY T. BUCHANAN READ. HE stars of morn on our banner borne THE With the iris of heaven are blended; The hand of our sires first mingled those fires, And by us they shall be defended. CHORUS. Then hail the true Red, White, and Blue, The flag of the constellation; |