18
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe,
Dropt from her nerveless grasp the shutterd spear
Closed her bright eye, and crubed her high career;
Hope, for a season, bad the world farewell,
And freedom shrieked—as Kosciusko fell.
The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air—
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow—
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below,
The storm prevails, the ramparts yeilds away—
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay,
Hark, as the mouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call:
Earth shook—red meteors flash along the sky,
And conscious nature shuddered at the cry.
O righteous Heaven, ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save,
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance, where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God?
That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar?
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host
Of blood stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast,
Tiren bade the deep in wild commotion flow
And heaved on ocean on their march below?
Departed spirits of the Mighty dead,
Ye that at Marrthon and Leucra bled,
