1 SEPTEMBER 1832, Page 15


-What voice of awful sound

Is that which thrills the ear?

It shakes the nations round, And tyrants learn to fear ! It is the warning cry Of Liberty, who calls, With shrieks of prophecy, The People to their walls.

For she discerns afar

The troubles as they rise— Beholds the van of War—

Hears Havoek's vulture-cries- The clank of cannon-chains- The hosts that hate the free Tramp o'er the groaning plains To Discord's symphony !

Fear not, ye free ! yet guard The strongholds of your power; Keep careful watch and ward On mountain-top and tower. But ye who wear the chain, (How little it may fret), Assert your rights again, Demand your fathers' debt.

ITow while a dread endures Which shakes the Triple Throne,* While chainless limbs are yours, And courage is your own; Now, while the Island free Exulting cheer ye on To Man's Thermopylm, And Freedom's Marathon; Now while her fluttering wings, Upon the Southern shore, Alarm the souls of kings, Like hundred Etnas' roar !

Yes ! quail, ye Tyrant ones ! One blow of her strong pinion Shall dash ye from your thrones, And break your vile dominion !

She pauses—but beware

When next she takes her flight ! Her cry. shall fill the air,

Make dreadful day of night, Hurl your high towers down, Lift up the weak and low, Melt sceptre, globe, and crown, In her fiery thunders' glow !

She fled when Poland fell ;

But long her murder-shriek Shall make ONE heart a hell, And blanch his blood-dropt cheek! She rests, but does not sleep,—

No, for her cry again Shrills o'er the silenced deep, And volleys round the plain!

Ye Allemannian Numbers !

She calls ye to awake, Like lions from their slumbers, And through your bondage break ! She calls ye, by the blood Of your redoubted sires, Polled like the Rhenish flood, To re-arouse your fires !-

If ye are Christian men,— The sons of those who met The Papal Tiger when

Its fangs it loved to wet

In gore of martyr'd saints,—

Now, when a bloodier foe The air of heaven taints,

Dare ye withhold the blow Shall crush the purple pride Of Rebels unto Man pride

Of if ye dare abide

The Three Worlds' bitter ban!—

By glorious Luther's creed, Melanethon's holy mind, By those who rushed to bleed As victims for mankind, By Huss's fiery death,

Which set your altars free,—

Peal, or resign your breath, One shout for Liberty ! Rouse—and your chains are riven ! Strike—and your foes shall fall! Ask—and your friend is Heaven ! Shrink—and deserve your thrall!

C. W.

IP Russia, Prussia, and Austria.