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STROPHE II.

O, Muse divine! whene'er thy strain
Devotes the tyrant head to shame,
The Patriot Virtues brighten in thy train;
And Glory hears the loud appeal;
And thou, unconquerable flame,
First-born of ancient Freedom, Public Zeal:

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Thou, in the dark and dreary hour
When Tyranny her dragon-wing outspread,
And Sloth a sullen influence shed,
And every coward Vice that loves the night
Revell'd on Corsica's ill-fated shore;
Thou didst one dauntless heart inflame,
Lo, Paoli, father of his country, came,
And with a giant-voice
Cried, “Liberty!” unto the drowsy race
That slept in Slav'ry's dull embrace;
Rouz'd at the sound, they hail'd thy glorious choice,
And ev'ry manly breast
Shook off th'unnerving load of rest;
And Virtue chasing the foul forms of Night,
Rose like a summer sun, and shed a golden light.