II. · Section 5

II.

Though France that gave your exiles bread, Your priests a home, your hopes a station, Or that young land where first was spread The starry flag of Liberation,-- Should heed your wrongs some future day, And send you voice or sword to plead 'em, With helpful love their help repay, But trust not even to them for Freedom. A Nation freed by foreign aid Is but a corpse by wanton science Convulsed like life, then flung to fade-- The life itself is Self-Reliance!

III.

Oh! see your quailing tyrant run To courteous lies, and Roman agents, His terror, lest Dungannon's sun Should rise again with riper radiance. Oh! hark the Freeman's welcome cheer, And hark your brother sufferers sobbing Oh! mark the universe grow clear, Oh! mark your spirit's royal throbbing-- 'Tis Freedom's God that sends such signs, As pledges of his blest alliance; He gives bright hopes to brave designs, And lends his bolts to Self-Reliance!