HERE once, the records show, a land whose pride Abode in Freedom's watchword! And once here The port of traffic for a hemisphere, With great gold-piling cities at her side! Tradition says, superbly once did bide Their sculptured goddess on an island near, With hospitable smile and torch kept clear For all wild hordes that sought her o'er the tide. 'Twas centuries ago. But this is true: Late the fond tyrant who misrules our land, Bidding his serfs dig deep in marshes old, Trembled, not knowing wherefore, as they drew From out this swampy bed of ancient mould A shattered torch held in a mighty hand. |