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Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns,
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile, 350
355 Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man ! !
Warsaw's last champion, from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid;
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave.
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
And swear for her to live !-with her to die!
He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd "His trusty warriors, few, but undismay’d; Firm-pac'd and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ;
Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly,
And the loud tocsin toll’d their last alarm!
In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew:
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
And Freedom shriek'
das Kosciusko fell!
The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there,
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
Earth shook-red meteors flash'd along the sky,
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry!
Oh! Righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod, 395 That smote the foes of Zion and of God,
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar ?
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host
Of blood-stain’d Pharaoh left their trembling coast; 400 Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heav'd an ocean on their march below?
Departed spirits of the mighty dead! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled !
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, .405
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return
Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see