80
PAUL I. IN THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO.
How could he dread a world of foes, who never yet knew dread,
With Poland's soil beneath his feet, and heaven above his head?
With Poland's soil beneath his feet, and heaven above his head?
He dreaded not—his heart was firm—his blade was tried and true,
High on the chainless winds of heaven, his country's banner flew;
And brave men stood beneath its folds—the fearless and the free,
Who to a foreign conqueror had never bent the knee;
In hope and strength renewed they came, as roused from long repose,
And gathering to their chieftain's side, looked downward on their foes.
High on the chainless winds of heaven, his country's banner flew;
And brave men stood beneath its folds—the fearless and the free,
Who to a foreign conqueror had never bent the knee;
In hope and strength renewed they came, as roused from long repose,
And gathering to their chieftain's side, looked downward on their foes.
Far from his frozen fields of snow, the fur-clad Russian came,
He saw before him pleasant fields, and left behind a flame,—
A flame from every cottage-roof—a flame in every heart,
Where love of country had a home, or vengeance had a part,—
Unconscious of opposing foes, like wild sea-waves they poured,
To seize a fair defenceless realm, and met instead a sword!
He saw before him pleasant fields, and left behind a flame,—
A flame from every cottage-roof—a flame in every heart,
Where love of country had a home, or vengeance had a part,—
Unconscious of opposing foes, like wild sea-waves they poured,
To seize a fair defenceless realm, and met instead a sword!
