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: 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; Roused at the sound, they hail’d thy glorious choice, And ev’ry manly breast Shook off the unnerving load of rest; And Virtue chasing the foul forms of night, Rose like a summer sun, and shed a golden light.