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TO THE POLES. 



Arise to the strife of the sword ! 



Advance like the wave of the flood ! 

 Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored, 



Till the Tyrants have bathed it in blood ! 



Your chains have been galling and keen : 



Ye have slept the dull sleep of despair : 

 Yet awake for the glories of days that have been ; 



For a spell that may rouse you is there. 



Long seasons of sorrow and shame 

 Have rolled o'er the land of your birth ; 



Though once without peer on the proud scroll of Fame, 

 'Tis the taunt and the by- word of Earth ! 

 The wrongs which your Fathers have borne, 

 The wrongs which your children must bear : 



Oh ! your souls are subdued by the bonds ye have worn, 

 Or a spell that must rouse you is there. 



The " Lion " is tame and debased 



While chained in the dwellings of men, 

 Yet send the wood king to his own native waste, 



And his fury will waken again : 



And thus, though degraded are ye, 



The sway of your Tyrants but spurn, 

 And the faith and the courage that dwell with the free, 



To you shall with Freedom return. 



Then awake to the strife of the sword ! 



Advance like the wave of the flood ! 

 Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored 



Till the Tyrants have bathed it in blood. 



Oh think on the days that have been, 



Till they rouse you to do and to dare : 

 Oh think on your bondage, so heavy and keen 



A spell that MUST wake you is there. 



