Oh! that I stood upon some lofty tower,
Before the gathered people, face to face,
That, like God’s thunder, might my words of power
Roll down the cry of Freedom to its base!
Oh! that my voice, a storm above all storms,
Could cleave earth, air, and ocean, rend the sky
With the fierce earthquake shout: “To arms! to arms!
For Truth, Fame, Freedom, Vengeance, Victory!”
The mountains, could they speak, would cry in thunder,
“Too long we’ve borne the tyrant’s trampling hoof;”
The stars would fight from Heaven with signs of wonder;
The tempest waves dash back a stern reproof:
But ye, writhing like worms beneath the tyrant’s spurning,
Dragged in the dust behind his chariot‐wheel,
Is there no vengeance in your strong hearts burning,
Tho’ God, and man, and earth, and heaven appeal?
Oh! for some prophet’s voice to rouse and warn
Some angel’s strength to strike them branch and root!
Oh! for Christ’s strength to bid, in Godlike scorn,
The very stones cry out, should ye be mute!

More verses by Lady Jane Wilde