old
    Call’d the wild man from waste and wold. 
    And in his hut thy presence stealing,
    Roused each familiar household feeling;
      And, best of all the happy ties,
    The centre of the social band,—­
    The Instinct of the Fatherland!

    United thus—­each helping each,
      Brisk work the countless hands for ever;
    For nought its power to strength can teach,
    Like Emulation and Endeavour! 
    Thus link’d the master with the man,
      Each in his rights can each revere,
    And while they march in freedom’s van,
      Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! 
    To freemen labour is renown! 
      Who works—­gives blessings and commands;
    Kings glory in the orb and crown—­
      Be ours the glory of our hands.

    Long in these walls—­long may we greet
    Your footfalls, Peace and concord sweet! 
    Distant the day, Oh! distant far,
    When the rude hordes of trampling War
      Shall scare the silent vale;
      And where,
      Now the sweet heaven when day doth leave
      The air;
      Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of Eve;
    Shall the fierce war-brand tossing in the gale,
    From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!

* * * * *

      Now, its destined task fulfill’d,
        Asunder break the prison-mould;
      Let the goodly Bell we build,
        Eye and heart alike behold. 
          The hammer down heave,
          Till the cover it cleave. 
    For the Bell to rise up to the freedom of day,
    Destruction must seize on the shape of the clay.

    To break the mould, the master may,
      If skilled the hand and ripe the hour;
    But woe, when on its fiery way
      The metal seeks itself to pour. 
    Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell,
      Exploding from its shattered home,
    And glaring forth, as from a hell,
      Behold the red Destruction come! 
    When rages strength that has no reason,
    There breaks the mould before the season;
    When numbers burst what bound before,
    Woe to the State that thrives no more! 
    Yea, woe, when in the City’s heart,
      The latent spark to flame is blown;
    And Millions from their silence start,
      To claim, without a guide, their own! 
    Discordant howls the warning Bell,
      Proclaiming discord wide and far,
    And, born but things of peace to tell,
      Becomes the ghastliest voice of war: 
    “Freedom!  Equality!”—­to blood,
      Rush the roused people at the sound! 
    Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood,
      And banded murder closes round! 
    The hyaena-shapes, that women were! 
      Jest with the horrors they survey;
    They hound—­they rend—­they mangle there—­
      As panthers with