Son of a race, whose dusky visage shows The heel of fortune, those who walk unfree Though cradled in the hold of liberty, Whose shackled spirit every gamut knows Of Hate's cadenza, through whose warm blood flows The royal ransom of love's dynasty, Scion of these, he strides to meet his foes. Erect, unbending, note his sable brow, The rugged furrows where deep feelings plough, The step of vigor and the noble air, The subtle halo of his wintry hair, Up from the furnace of the Earth's red sea A man is fashioned for the years to be! |