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VII.
THE SONG OF HOPE.
Droop not, my brothers! I hear a glad strain—
We shall burst forth like streams from the winter-night’s chain;
A flag is unfurled, a bright star of the sea,
A ransom approaches—we yet shall be free!
Where the pines wave, where the light chamois leaps
Where the lone eagle hath built on the steeps,
Where the snows glisten, the mountain rills foam,
Free as the falcon's wing, yet shall we roam.
