Verse > Anthologies > William McCarty, ed. > The American National Song Book
William McCarty, comp.  The American National Song Book.  1842.
An Ode: ‘See in the east refulgent rise’
By Henry Bickly
SEE in the east refulgent rise
  The genius of the western world;
Mild gazing through the azure skies,
  Around her clouds of glory curl’d:
See her advance, with brow serene,        5
  The goddess FREEDOM by her side,
Who looks below with happy mien,
  And eye of more than mortal pride.
See how the clouds beneath them sweep,
  Ambrosial odours flinging round;        10
Now see them pass the eastern deep,
  And now alight on earthly ground.
See the bright goddess Freedom stand,
  Casting swift glance on every sphere;
“This,” she cried, “’s my favourite land,        15
  For still I see my standard here.
“Hark! how the drum tumultuous beats;
  Hark! how the trumpet sounds afar;
See Glory point to Valour’s feats,
  And fire-mouth’d cannons bellow WAR.        20
“’Twas on this great, eventful day,
  This day enregister’d in Heaven,
When first was seen the bold array;
  When first the mighty blow was given,
“Which to my country gave a name,        25
  And snatch’d it from Oppression’s skill;
Stamp’d warriors on the list of Fame,
  And statesmen worlds shall reverence still.
“This day, the first on Glory’s roll,
  Collected heroes braved the storm,        30
And shook the shackles from the soul,
  And freed the energetic arm.
“Their children choose the day divine,
  Again to men, man’s rights to tell,
Resolved to kneel at victory’s shrine,        35
  Or fall as their great fathers fell.
“Hear how the clamour spreads amain,
  Through every heart the blood-tides run;
See, crowding towards the expectant plain,
  Thousands, who think and act as one.        40
“Yes, from their slumbers now they rise,
  A slumber of inglorious rest;
Revenge’s sparkles light their eyes,
  Convulsive passions shake their breast.
“To Victory’s field Hope lights their way;        45
  On Britain glimmers Terror’s glare;
Columbia’s sons shall feel my sway,
  Britain’s, the sway of cold despair.
“Strike! strike! my sons!” the goddess spoke;
  The genius sigh’d, “strike the firm blow;        50
Cast from your necks your broken yoke,
  And rise triumphant o’er your foe.
“Your brethren from her sea-hells claim
  Brethren in cruel bondage held,
Where oft has burst the smother’d flame,        55
  And oft the heart indignant swell’d.
“See,” cried the goddess, “how their hosts
  Crow’d eager for the coming fight;
Union their wide pavilion boasts:
  Union, we fight for justice, right.        60
“Fill’d with the flames their fathers fann’d,
  How glorious do they now appear;
This is, indeed, my favour’d land,
  And float, my flag, forever here!”

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