Smite as it seems him best; Thine let the wind that can, by sea or land, Wrest from thy banner-hand. Die they in whom dies freedom, die and cease, Though the world weep for these; Live thou and love and lift when these lie dead The green and white and red. Sec. O our Republic that shalt bind in bands The kingdomless far lands And link the chainless ages; thou that wast With England ere she past Among the faded nations, and shalt be Again, when sea to sea Calls through the wind and light of morning time, And throneless clime to clime Makes antiphonal answer; thou that art Where one man's perfect heart Burns, one man's brow is brightened for thy sake, Thine, strong to make or break; O fair Republic hallowing with stretched hands The limitless free lands, When all men's heads for love, not fear, bow down To thy sole royal crown, As thou to freedom; when man's life smells sweet, And at thy bright swift feet A bloodless and a bondless world is laid; Then, when thy men are made, Let these indeed as we in dreams behold One chosen of all thy fold, One of all fair things fairest, one exalt Above all fear or fault, One unforgetful of unhappier men And us who loved her then; With eyes that outlook suns and dream on graves; With voice like quiring waves; With heart the holier for their memories' sake Who slept that she might wake; With breast the sweeter for that sweet blood lost, And all the milkless cost; Lady of earth, whose large equality Bends but to her and thee; Equal with heaven, and infinite of years, And splendid from quenched tears; Strong with old strength of great things fallen and fled, Diviner for her dead; Chaste of all stains and perfect from all scars, Above all storms and stars, All winds that blow through time, all waves that foam, Our Capitolian Rome. 1867. ODE ON THE PROCLAMATION OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC To: VICTOR HUGO (Greek: ailenon ailenon eipe, to d' eu nikato) STROPHE 1