And was this savage? say

And was this savage? say, Ye ancient few, Who struggled through Young freedom's trial-day— What first your sleeping wrath awoke? On your own shores war's larum broke: What turned to gall even kindred blood? Round your own homes the oppressor stood: This every warm affection chilled, This every heart with vengeance thrilled, And strengthened every hand; From mound to mound, The word went round— "Death for our native land!"