Is there a "winter in thy soul" That Genius cannot shine away? Does dark Despair that heart controul Which pants for Glory's radiant day?
Have past afflictions left the trace Of sorrow grav'd in lines so deep That Memory, hopeless to efface The piteous forms, looks on to weep?
Then think, that o'er thy glowing page, Where Fancy's hues with feeling blend, Enthusiast Youth and temperate Age In sympathetic rapture bend.
Think, that the music of thy strains, Attun'd to Freedom's manly lyre, Runs kindling thro' the Patriot's veins, And lights his glistening eyes with fire.
Think, on some day of wild alarm, When Albion's cliffs descry the foe, Thy voice may nerve the forceful arm That lays the fierce invader low.
And see, thy Country, freed at length From jealous fears that haunt the slave, And taught to call forth all her strength, The hands and hearts of all the brave,
No more the freeborn spirit binds; But, inly touch'd, delights to see Her cause the cause of noblest minds, Her friends the friends of Liberty!
