CHORUS: 
Sleep, sleep! our song is laden
With the soul of slumber; 15
It was sung by a Samian maiden,
Whose lover was of the number
Who now keep
That calm sleep
Whence none may wake, where none shall weep. 20

INDIAN: 
I touch thy temples pale! 
I breathe my soul on thee! 
And could my prayers avail,
All my joy should be
Dead, and I would live to weep, 25
So thou mightst win one hour of quiet sleep.

CHORUS: 
Breathe low, low
The spell of the mighty mistress now! 
When Conscience lulls her sated snake,
And Tyrants sleep, let Freedom wake. 30
Breathe low—­low
The words which, like secret fire, shall flow
Through the veins of the frozen earth—­low, low!

SEMICHORUS 1: 
Life may change, but it may fly not;
Hope may vanish, but can die not; 35
Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;
Love repulsed,—­but it returneth!

SEMICHORUS 2: 
Yet were life a charnel where
Hope lay coffined with Despair;
Yet were truth a sacred lie, 40
Love were lust—­

SEMICHORUS 1: 
If Liberty
Lent not life its soul of light,
Hope its iris of delight,
Truth its prophet’s robe to wear,
Love its power to give and bear. 45

CHORUS: 
In the great morning of the world,
The Spirit of God with might unfurled
The flag of Freedom over Chaos,
And all its banded anarchs fled,
Like vultures frighted from Imaus, 50
Before an earthquake’s tread.—­
So from Time’s tempestuous dawn
Freedom’s splendour burst and shone:—­
Thermopylae and Marathon
Caught like mountains beacon-lighted, 55
The springing Fire.—­The winged glory
On Philippi half-alighted,
Like an eagle on a promontory. 
Its unwearied wings could fan
The quenchless ashes of Milan. 60
From age to age, from man to man,
It lived; and lit from land to land
Florence, Albion, Switzerland.

Then night fell; and, as from night,
Reassuming fiery flight, 65
From the West swift Freedom came,
Against the course of Heaven and doom. 
A second sun arrayed in flame,
To burn, to kindle, to illume. 
From far Atlantis its young beams 70
Chased the shadows and the dreams. 
France, with all her sanguine steams,
Hid, but quenched it not; again
Through clouds its shafts of glory rain
From utmost Germany to Spain. 75