WITH Memory's eye, Thou land of joy! I view thy cliffs once more; And tho' thy plains Red slaughter stains, 'T is Freedom's blessed gore. Thy woody dells, And shadowy fells, Exceed a monarch's halls; Thy pine-clad hills, And gushing rills, And foaming water-falls. The Gallic foe Has work'd thee woe, But trumpet never scar'd thee; How could he think That thou would'st shrink, With all thy rocks to guard thee? E'en now the Gaul, That wrought thy fall, At his own triumph wonders; So long the strife For death and life, So loud our rival thunders! O! when shall Time Avenge the crime, And to our rights restore us? And bid the Seine Be chok'd with slain, And Paris quake before us? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GARDEN SEAT by THOMAS HARDY ON PASSING THE NEW MENIN GATE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON PETER STUYVESANT'S NEW YEAR'S CALL, 1 JAN. 1661 by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE ARAB TO THE PALM by BAYARD TAYLOR WALT WHITMAN'S CAUTION by WALT WHITMAN SATIRE: 3. TO SIR FRANCIS BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN |