Archy Moore

     From my heel I have broken the chain!
     I have shivered the yoke from my neck!
Free!— free!— as the plover that rides on the main—
     As the waters that dash o'er our deck!
     In my bosom new feelings are born—
     New hopes have sprung up in my path—
And I leave to my country defiance and scorn,
     The curse of a fugitive's wrath!
My country!— away!— for the gifts that she gave
Were the whip and the fetter!— the life of a slave!
 
     Thank God! that a limit is set
     To the reach of the tyrant's control,
That the down-trodden serf may not wholly forget
     The right and the might of his soul!
     That, though years of oppression may dim
     The fire on the heart's altar laid,
Yet, lit by the breath of Jehovah, like him
     It lives, and shall live, undecayed!
Will the fires of the mountain grow feeble and die?
Beware!— for the tread of the Earthquake is nigh!
 
     Proud Land! there is vengeance in store
     For thy soul-crushing despots and thee—
When mercy, grown faint, shall no longer implore,
     But the day of thy recompense be—
     When thy cup with the mixture of wrath
     Shall be full— the Avenger, in power,
Shall sweep like a tempest of fire o'er thy path,
     Consuming the tree and the flower—
And thy mountains shall echo the shriek of despair,
While the smoke of thy torment shall darken the air!
 
     Wo!— wo!— to the forgers of chains,
     Who trample the image of God!
Calls for vengeance the blood of the bondman which stains
     The cursed and the verdureless sod!
     Ye may tread on the poor— but not long!
     Ye may torture the weak— while ye dare!
But wo!— for the arm of a People is strong
     When nerved by revenge and despair!
Let the fetter be tightened!— the sooner 'twill break!
Trample on!— and the serf shall more quickly awake!

*     *     *     *     *     *     *
 
     My country— the land of my birth—
     Farewell to thy fetters and thee!
The bye-word of tyrants— the scorn of the earth—
     A mockery to all shalt thou be!
     Huzza!— for the sea and its waves!
     Ye billows and surges— all hail!
My brothers henceforth— for ye scorn to be slaves,
     As ye toss up your crests to the gale!
Farewell to the land of the 'charter and chain'—
My path is away o'er the fetterless main!