Ah, rather haste to Concord's holy shrine,
Ye rival nations, haste with joy elate;
Your blending garlands round her altar twine,
And bind the wounds of no immortal hate:
Go — breathe responsive rituals o'er the sod
Where Freedom martyrs press an early grave;
Go — vow that never shall their turf be trod
By the polluting step of tyrant or of slave.