And was this savage? say, Ye ancient few, Who struggled through Young freedom's trial-day-- What first your sleeping wrath awoke? On your own shores war's larum broke: What turned to gall even kindred blood? Round your own homes the oppressor stood: This every warm affection chilled, This every heart with vengeance thrilled, And strengthened every hand; From mound to mound, The word went round-- "Death for our native land!" XVII. Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh, For them who thus could dare to die? Are all your own dark hours forgot, Of soul-sick suffering here? Your pangs, as from yon mountain spot, Death spoke in every booming shot, That knelled upon your ear? How oft that gloomy, glorious tale ye tell, As round your knees your children's children hang, Of them, the gallant Ones, ye loved so well, Who to the conflict for their country sprang. In pride, in all the pride of wo, Ye tell of them, the brave laid low, Who for their birthplace bled; In pride, the pride of triumph then, Ye tell of them, the matchless men, From whom the invaders fled! XVIII. And ye, this holy place who throng, The annual theme to hear, And bid the exulting song Sound their great names from year to year; Ye, who invoke the chisel's breathing grace, In marble majesty their forms to trace; Ye, who the sleeping rocks would raise, To guard their dust and speak their praise; Ye, who, should some other band With hostile foot defile the land, Feel that ye like them would wake, Like them the yoke of bondage break, Nor leave a battle-blade undrawn, Though every hill a sepulchre should yawn-- Say, have not ye one line for those, One brother-line to spare, Who rose but as your Fathers rose, And dared as ye would dare? XIX. Alas! for them--their day is o'er, Their fires are out from hill and shore; No more for them the wild deer bounds, The plough is on their hunting grounds; The pale man's axe rings through their woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods, Their pleasant springs are dry; Their children--look, by power oppressed, Beyond the mountains of the west, Their children go--to die. XX.