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The tempest-greetings of a mighty throng
The cannon's thundering reverberation—
The civic fete, with toast, and speech, and song—
The grand ‘All hail!’ of a rejoicing nation,
A million times repeated, loud and long—
Can one lone voice, all tremulous with feeling,
Be heard by thee, O glorified Kossuth,
To all thy noblest attributes appealing,
As one who knows Oppression's bitter fruit;
And to thy listening ear the truth revealing,
When sycophants and cowards all are mute?
My claims for audience thou wilt not discredit,
For they are based on kindred love of Right;
And as for Liberty, world-wide to spread it,
I, too, have suffered outrage, scorn, and slight;
Known what the dungeon is, yet not to dread it,
And still am zealous in the moral fight.
While praising us wherein we are deserving,
Tell us our faults,—expose our crime of crimes;
Be as the needle to the pole unswerving,
And true to Freedom's standard in all climes;
Thus many a timid heart with courage nerving
To meet the mighty conflict of the times.
Say slavery is a stain upon our glory,
Accursed of Heaven, and by the earth abhorred;
Show that our soil with negro blood is gory,
And certain are the judgments of the Lord;
So shall thy name immortal be in story,
And thy fidelity the world applaud.
Yet first, for this, thou shalt be execrated
By those who now in crowds around thee press
Thy visit shall be sternly reprobated;
Thy friends and flatterers grow less and less;
Thy hopes for Hungary be dissipated;
America shall curse thee and not bless.
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