| |
| YE lurid domes! whose tottering columns stand, | |
| Marks of the despot’s desolating hand: | |
| Whose weed-grown roofs and mouldering arches show | |
| The curse of tyranny, a nation’s wo; | |
| In every ruin—every pile I find | 5 |
| A warning lesson to a thoughtful mind. | |
| Your gloomy cells expressive silence break, | |
| Echo to groans, and eloquently speak; | |
| “The Christian’s blood cements the stones he rears; | |
| This clay was moisten’d with a Christian’s tears; | 10 |
| Pale as these walls, a prisoner oft has lain, | |
| Felt the keen scourge and worn the ruthless chain; | |
| While scoffing foes increasing tortures pour, | |
| Till the poor victim feels, alas! no more!” | |
| Here thy brave tars, America, are found | 15 |
| Lock’d in foul prisons and in fetters bound. | |
| Heavens! what sad times! must free Columbians bow | |
| Before yon tinsel tyrant’s murky brow? | |
| Cringe to a power which death and rapine crown? | |
| Smile at a smile, and tremble at a frown? | 20 |
| Kneel at a throne, its clemency implore, | |
| Enrich’d by spoils, and stain’d with human gore? | |
| Bear the sharp lash, the ponderous load sustain, | |
| Suppress their anger, and revenge restrain? | |
| Leave a free clime, explore the treacherous waves, | 25 |
| The sport of miscreants and the slave of slaves? | |
| Heavens! at the sight each patriot bosom glows | |
| With virtuous hatred on its country’s foes; | |
| At every blow indignant passions rise, | |
| And vengeance flashes from resentful eyes. | 30 |
| But heaven is just, though man’s bewilder’d mind | |
| To the dark ways of providence is blind; | |
| Else why are some ordain’d above the rest, | |
| Or villains treated better than the best? | |
| Why, martyr’d virtue, hang thy injured head? | 35 |
| Why lived an Arnold, while a Warren bled? | |
| Earth’s murderers triumph, proud oppressors reign, | |
| While patriots bleed, and captives sigh in vain? | |
| Yet slumbering justice soon shall wake and show | |
| Her sword, unsheath’d, and vengeance wing the blow: | 40 |
| Columbia’s genius, glorious as the sun, | |
| With thy blest shade, immortal Washington! | |
| Unite to guard us from nefarious foes, | |
| And heaven defend, and angels interpose, | |
| Devoted tyrants cause just wrath to feel, | 45 |
| Make Beys and Bashaws in submission kneel; | |
| Man’s equal right, sweet liberty, restore, | |
| And despotism crush, to rise no more. | |
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