dering every sound of wrong the country through:
The foolish war with Denmark! Poland betrayed anew!
The vengeance of Vendean men in many a province stern!
The calling back of banished troops! The Prince's base return!
Wherever barricades were built, the lock on press and tongue!
On the free right of all debate, the daily-practised wrong!
The groaning clang of prison-doors in North and South afar!
For all who plead the People's right, Oppression's ancient bar!
The bond with Russia's Cossacks! The slander fierce and loud,
Alas! that has become your share, instead of laurels proud--
Ye who have borne the hardest brunt, that Freedom might advance,
Victorious in defeat and death--June-warriors of France!
Yes, wrong and treason everywhere, the Elbe and Rhine beside,
And beat, oh German men! your hearts, with calm and sluggish tide?
_No war within your apron's folds_? Out with it, fierce and bold!
The second, final war with all who Freedom would withhold!
Shout: "The Republic!" till it drowns the chiming minster bells,
Whose sound this swindle of your rights by crafty Austria tells!

In vain! 'Tis time your faltering hands should disentomb us yet,
And lift us on the planks, begirt with many a bayonet;
Not to the palace-court, as then, that _he_ may near us stand--
No; to the tent, the market-place, and through the wakening land!
Out through the broad land bear us--the dead Insurgents sent,
To join, upon our ghastly biers, the German Parliament.
Oh solemn sight! there we should lie, the grave-earth on each brow,
And faces sunken in decay--the proper Regents now!
There we should lie and say to you: "Ere we could waste away,
Your Freedom-gift, ye archons brave, is rotting in decay!
The Corn is housed which burst the sod, when the March sun on us shone,
But before all other harvests was Freedom's March-seed mown!
Chance poppies, which the sickle spared, among the stubbles stand;
Oh, would that Wrath, the crimson Wrath, thus blossomed in the land!"
And yet, it _does_ remain; it springs behind the reaper's track;
Too much had been already gained, too much been stolen back;
Too much of scorn, too much of shame, heaped daily on your head--
Wrath and Revenge _must_ still be left, believe it, from the Dead!
It _does_ remain, and it awakes--it shall and must awake!
The Revolution, half complete, yet wholly forth will break.
It waits the hour to rise in power,