Yet while by life's endearments crowned, To mark this day we gather round, And to our nation's founders raise The voice of gratitude and praise, Shall not one line lament that lion race, For us struck out from sweet creation's face? Alas! alas! for them--those fated bands, Whose monarch tread was on these broad, green lands; Our Fathers called them savage--them, whose bread, In the dark hour, those famished Fathers fed: We call them savage, we, Who hail the struggling free, Of every clime and hue; We, who would save The branded slave, And give him liberty he never knew: We, who but now have caught the tale, That turns each listening tyrant pale, And blessed the winds and waves that bore The tidings to our kindred shore; The triumph-tidings pealing from that land, Where up in arms insulted legions stand; There, gathering round his bold compeers, Where He, our own, our welcomed One, Riper in glory than in years, Down from his forfeit throne, A craven monarch hurled, And spurned him forth, a proverb to the world! XIV. We call them savage--O be just! Their outraged feelings scan; A voice comes forth, 'tis from the dust-- The savage was a man! Think ye he loved not? who stood by, And in his toils took part? Woman was there to bless his eye-- The savage had a heart! Think ye he prayed not? when on high He heard the thunders roll, What bade him look beyond the sky? The savage had a soul! XV. I venerate the Pilgrim's cause, Yet for the red man dare to plead-- We bow to Heaven's recorded laws, He turned to nature for a creed; Beneath the pillared dome, We seek our God in prayer; Through boundless woods he loved to roam, And the Great Spirit worshipped there: But one, one fellow-throb with us he felt; To one divinity with us he knelt; Freedom, the self-same freedom we adore, Bade him defend his violated shore; He saw the cloud, ordained to grow, And burst upon his hills in wo; He saw his people withering by, Beneath the invader's evil eye; Strange feet were trampling on his fathers' bones; At midnight hour he woke to gaze Upon his happy cabin's blaze, And listen to his children's dying groans: He saw--and maddening at the sight, Gave his bold bosom to the fight; To tiger rage his soul was driven, Mercy was not--nor sought nor given; The pale man from his lands must fly; He would be free--or he would die. XVI.