LXXVIII. Oh! light up every land, till, far and free, Their brave hearts come from mountain and from plain, While, with the shout of onward liberty, Old Earth to her foundation shakes again. The night is gone!--thus Tyranny recedes!-- The sky is cloudless!--FREEDOM!--like thy deeds: A gladness beams o'er earth, and main, and Heav'n-- Thus look the nations up, their chains, their chains are riv'n. LXXIX. Kingdoms are falling! thrones--that have withstood The earthquake and the tempest in their shock, And brav'd the host of battle's fiery flood, Making of human rights the merest mock,[10] Of blood, of agony, of human tears, The daily sacrifice of countless years-- Are falling: may they fall on every shore, As fell the fiend from Heav'n, no more to rise--no more. LXXX. Greece gathers up again her glorious band! With FREEDOM'S loud hurra the Andes quake! It swells, like ocean's wave, from land to land-- Bless them, our Father! for thy children's sake. They strike the noblest who shall strike the first-- Wailing and prostrate, Tyranny accurst, Convulses earth with his fierce agonies; But, if ye strike like men, the fell dictator dies! LXXXI. A tear for Poland! many tears for her Who rose so nobly, and so nobly fell! E'en at her broken shrine, a worshipper, In dust and ashes, let me say farewell! Farewell! brave spirits!--Earth! and can it be, Thy sons beheld them struggling to be free-- Unaided, saw them in their blood downtrod-- Nations, ye are accurst! be merciful, Oh God! LXXXII. My HOME! it needs no prophet voice to tell Thy coming glories; they are thronging fast, Like the enchantments of the Sybil's cell, Expanding brighter to the very last: Fulfilling all the patriot's burning vow, Be free forever my own land as now! While the uprising nations hail thy star, And strike, for freedom, that God-sanctioned war. LXXXIII. And they may fall--but who shall date thy end? Lo! all the past has giv'n its light to thee: Expiring Rome, like a departing friend, Gave solemn warning to thy liberty: And e'en the empires, fabulously old In fruitful fable, have a moral told; What say their fallen kings and shrineless God? There is no "right divine" in the fell tyrant's rod!