II. Bursting with wrath, yon angry cloud As the striving steps of the crushing crowd What mean their yells of horrid glee? III. What, sateless still! must still the stream From noble hearts be poured, Will Pity never shed its gleam On that remorseless horde? Must still some guiltless victim bleed, To latest times abhorred? O, Liberty! our pride,—our shame, "O, Liberty! what crimes are committed in thy name!" was the apostrophe of Madame Roland to the statue of Liberty, as she passed it on her way to the guillotine. IV. But hark what thrilling sounds arise In one rich tide of song! And see, where opening to their tread A patient band, with tireless breath, V. Theirs is no hope folorn,-they wend Exulting on their way; Reckless how soon their course must end, Their life-blood ebb away. They seem to share one thought, one breath, And marshalled thus by faith to death, In beautiful array, Those martyr-sisters glide along, Breathing their parting prayers in song! VI. No fears have they;-the savage crowd May scowl on them in vain ; Their step is firm, their bearing proud, They view the reeking scaffold nigh, VII. See how she bends her to the block, |