XCII.
Woe to the vanquish'd! thus it hath been still,
Since Time's first march!—Hark, hark, a people's cry!
Aye! now the conquerors in the streets fulfil
Their task of wrath! In vain the victims fly;
Hark! now each piercing tone of agony
Blends in the city's shriek!—The lot is cast.
Slaves, 'twas your choice, thus, rather thus, to die,
Than where the warrior's blood flows warm and fast,
XCIII.
Oh! well doth Freedom battle!—Men have made,
E'en midst their blazing roofs, a noble stand,
And on the floors, where once their children play'd,
And by the hearths, round which their household band
At evening met; aye! struggling hand to hand,
Within the very chambers of their sleep,
There have they taught the spoilers of the land,
In chainless hearts what fiery strength lies deep,
E
