"That strain once more!" it had no dying fall; Tremendous minstrelsy! it shook my frame— 'Twas Freedom struck the shell in her high hall— On wing of fire the sound electric came, And pierc'd my inmost soul, and rous'd to flame Her finest, purest, noblest feelings all. "That strain once more!" — O may it rouse the world! Ah no! great minstrel cease! — the spell is broke— Gallia for liberty has bled in vain— In vain from their red thrones her tyrants hurl'd! Behold, submissive, to the slavish yoke Her victor neck she tamely bends again: And now, Helvetia! (dire portent for thee!) Marks, with malignant eye, thy struggle to be free. HAFIZ.
