Songs of Freedom

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W. Scott, 1893 - English poetry - 345 pages
 

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Page 194 - They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.
Page 41 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Page 4 - Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that ! What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man, for a
Page 201 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side...
Page 39 - And thy sad floor an altar, — for 't was trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Page 42 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells : In native swords and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad. !$•' Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade...
Page 43 - Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying. The loudest still the tempest leaves behind...
Page 5 - Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro...
Page 41 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Page 19 - When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free, Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared!

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