Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1831-06-30

A trumpet voice, that wakes the dead, is heard
beyond the wave;
And the fair form Of Liberty arises from her
grave:
Her ieudal grave DER which such years Of hope
less night have flown,
Since on lis purple sod they rear'd the feudal
tyrant's throne.
France the first 10 spring to arms and hers
the deepest wrong;
Though Kings were leagu'd to forge her chains
they could not bind hor long:
She rising in resstlcss strength against the Bourbon
Before her swept the naughty holds Of tyranny
away.
There lives brave old man, whose name 'tis
triumph bui TO speak,
lie who led on the patriot troop, that memorable
week;
Three revolution. he has seen; the here Of
them all;
1.-Two La fayet,e. live on and see the last Of
tyrants fall.
The train was fired mex, Belgium rose; and Belgium
next was free;
When nations with their tyrants war thus may
il ever be:
Bu, when the soul-le-s Duchman yields to Bel
giums's sons Of fire,
Oh let it wake the fullest swell Of Glory's golden
Tyre.
Now rose cold Russa's Autocrat: and dare you
say to me
Those Polish slaves have heard Of France and
dream Of liberty?
Pour down We Cossack herdes and slake your
thirst of murder there;
Till may hear them mercy crave and yet refuse
their prayer.
Proud Monarch, ha! what ,hink'st thou now, will
they thy mercy crave'
Armies of slaves, they canno, quell one handful
o' the brave.
Tho driven from the field, a, off a. waves for.
sake the shore,
Yet think'st thou their resstless tide will not re-
turn once more'
The land Of Kosciusko, sends TO heaven 10 glad
Ills angel hears the immense acclaim Of Polish
victory,
For him the most sublime reward Gods Justice
could bestow
To feel, that not in vain, he poured his martyr
b!ood below.
But You ye iron kings, who know no law, but
lust and pride;
le who did Polands generous soil, like robbers
spoil divide;
Who bound in triple manaclcs, her once ma
Jestic frame;
And seizing all her rights, but left the mockery
ofa name.
10 now she is avenged by God; and yo in
IIadcs hear
The war of triumph, following close the flashing
Of her spear;
go close that while yet sings in air the signal Of
the fray
The Russian Eagle droops his wings, and Poland
wins the day.
Oh yo who swore upon the sword, your native
land to save;
Or fighting in her cause, to win the freedom Of
the grave
Or were that dearest death denied, to seek some
| foreign shore;
Where the wild trampngs Of the Russ should
crush your heart more.
And while he razed your meadows rich, and fired
your haInles fair;
And from your burning cities cured the purple
flames in air;
Borne high upon the buoyant wave of freedoms
throne, the sea;
Your song had been, farewell our homo! but
welcome Liberty.
Ye need not fly; be j, the source Of an immortal
pride;
That when the Northern armies rushd like
oceans rushing tide;
You made the laurels Of old Greece, like
infant trophies, seem;
Working a nobler miracle than valour dared to
dream.
Ye nocd not fly to other lands, from love Of
freedom. now;
You've laid the deep foundations here, blood
dropping from your brow
In your own land the holy earth, where your
dead heroes sleep,
Tho Sabbath Of her glorious rest. shall PoliA
freedom keep.