Thro’ a night of darkest sorrow
My lov’d country have I seen,
When no hope of brighter morrow
O’er it shone with light serene;
When despair each bosom rending,
Her free spirit seem’d to sleep,
Or die in sending
To heaven its murmurs sad and deep.
“Has her sun then set for ever,
His long race of glory o’er;
Shall his rays relumine never
Lusitania’s wretched shore?”
Thus the Patriot Bard lamenting
Forth in strains indignant broke,
Deep curses venting
Beneath th’ Oppressor’s iron yoke.
But how bright the morn was breaking
When fair Albion’s heroes came,
And our sons from slumber waking
Kindled Freedom’s sacred flame!
Oh ’twas light too pure and glorious
For the eyes of slaves to bear —
Soon shouts victorious
Our triumph to the world declare!