(illegible text)
Why should we yet our sail unfurl.
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl.
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs (illegible text),
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Otawa’s tide; this trembling moon
Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon!
Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers,
Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring ales:
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!
THE GRECIAN’S SONG.
Ah: say not ye rulers, ye tyrants of Greece,
Ah! say not that freedom defend our green shore,
O tell not our sons that fair plenty was smiling,
Ah! freedom and plenty, alas! are no more.
We ask not for mercy from tyrants so cruel,
Our rights we demand, and our rights we shall have
We still shall inherit the blood of our fathers,
Who fell at famed Marathon,—their country to save
O hush’d be the trumpet that wakes the war-lion,
Fair Peace we adore thee with olive so green,
But say, shall brave millions ay bow to oppression,
And weep out existence in sorrow and pain.
No—mark the brave sons of the land of Columbia,
Their broad spreading eagle fair freedom unfolds.
Their rich glowing vallies are sounding with gladness!
And each toiling peasant sweet plenty beholds.
O come, ye Spartans! tho’ dreary the prospect,
Come, for our children demand no delay;
Arouse! or our country will fall into ruins,
And grim-eyed oppression will hail the dark day.
Then rally, ye Grecians—thy chiefs, O famed Luctra!
Still gaze on our sons, though enwrapt with a chain!
Arouse! from thy fetters, fair land of the sages,
And boast, not of famous Lucargus in vain.
finis.
