Bard of Liberty! thou, like thy great theme, Too long departed hence, and homed among The mountains of thy song— Return! — nor only in thy lofty dream Foresee the Despot's doom and Freedom beam O'er Albion — bright and bland and blessed again Where she of famous yore long strove to reign, Inspiring still wrapt MILTON'S glorious strain, Tho' lost! — come BYRON, for there are who yearn For thine and banished Liberty's return: And thou shalt find Peers of thy pride, and soul, and mind— Of other temper erst — now dark and stern As spirits resolute to lift or lay The storms that whelm or save: for such are they That lour; and who, that can rebuff or ride, Would hold or slink aside, And meekly mark the mighty drift of fate, Hurrying the destinies men hope or hate, When glorious crowns of victory are there; Or nobler martyrdom — for all who dare, Many a soul thy strain will stir to braving Force, and frauds of Tyranny, and Tyrants' raving; And when the banners of thy woof are waving, Shall the proud phalanx look in vain before!— For there should BYRON be — at Freedom's need The battle or debate to lead— With many more Who jade their genius now — or spill their lore To grace some dastard's triumph — wanton's store. Bard of the free — thy native land alone Will boldly echo back thy towering tone, And still can vaunt Souls that no hoards can hire — no doom can daunt.
