Songs of the Slav
The scattered hosts of darkness flee; silent grows the stormy scene;
Blue is the sky, blue is the sea, gold the atmosphere between.
But what do I behold? A new strand there. The sun's smiling form
Of coming years illumines another world reborn from the storm.
And you palm's gorgeous growth of green, glistening with fruit of gold,
Surveys its pleasing charms in the deep blue water's peaceful fold.
The country round with 'bundance beams—blossom, grain and grape of vine;
And there in gratitude urgent work and merry song combine.
All hands are free from letters, pleasant is the laborer's brow,
Nowhere custodian with whip, nor sleek the slaveholder now;
Nowhere glistens the savage soldier's lance and spear, nor appear
The white folds of the Brahman's robe hypocritically near;
Nowhere is writ in colors diverse the mark of caste,
'Tis the happy native land of brothers equal and free at last.
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