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POLAN0. 



ARM of the mighty ! whence art thou ? 



Thy deeds without a name ? 

 Thy glory and thy brilliant brow, 



Through fire and flood the same ? 

 Have setting suns illumed thy grave ? 

 Poland ! not Greece, we swear to save ! 



The flood of time rides on the wind : 

 The smile of fame sits on the sea : 

 'Twere madness to proclaim him blind 

 Whose glory raised Thermopylae ! 

 Must we subscribe Gaul's shameful pass 

 While dreaming of Leonidas ? 



The scorn of Franks be still on those 



Whose infamy is like their race : 

 Whose coward fraud for ever goes 



Where guilt abhors its parent trace ! 

 And every pang and every throe 

 Adds terror to the tyrant's woe ! 



Who stood upon the Persians' tomb, 



Demanding one short moment's pause ? 

 Oh ! that the earth had ope'd to womb, 

 And thus he had been spared the cause ! 

 The sacred cause to him to ALL 

 Who now respond to Poland's call ! 



Arm of the terrible in fight ! 



Be nerved now for deeds of arms ; 

 A world shall deify thy might 



Despite war's fierce and fell alarms ! 

 For Poland the angel Pity weeps 

 Revenge is foul Revenge, that sleeps. 



And is there no one Spartan crest 

 Upborne in earnest of the war ? 

 No swelling, burning, patriot breast 



From Albion and the Isles afar ? 

 And shall her sun in darkness set, 

 Whose patriots are unconquer'd yet? ED. 



