A Song

Hark! 'tis Freedom that calls, come, patriots, awake!
To arms, my brave boys, and away:
'Tis Honor, 'tis Virtue, 'tis Liberty calls,
And upbraids the too tedious delay.
What pleasure we find in pursuing our foes,
Thro' blood and thro' carnage we'll fly;
Then follow, we'll soon overtake them, huzza!
The tyrants are seized on, they die!

Triumphant returning with Freedom secur'd,
Like men, we'll be joyful and gay--
With our wives and our friends, we'll sport, love, and drink,
And lose the fatigues of the day.
'Tis freedom alone gives a relish to mirth,
But oppression all happiness sours;
It will smooth life's dull passage, 'twill slope the descent,
And strew the way over with flowers.