Poem by Eugene La Mont

“The Land of the Brave and the Free!”

Hail, Britain! Ocean’s noblest born,
	Hail! mistress of the waves! 
Whose sons are like the native oak,
	Whose daughters own no slaves.

Surrounding nations turn to thee,
	Where plenty seems to smile; 
And wish their fate was like to thine,
	Sons of the sea-girt isle.

But hark! what sound is this that’s borne
	On every passing breeze,
Like the distant tramp of armed men,
	Or the moan of swelling seas?

It is! it is a people’s groan,
	Beneath the tyrant’s rod;
It is a people’s burning prayer
	To peace and freedom’s God.

Ah! see them raise their shackled hands
	To the bright and beauteous sky;
But its very splendour seems to make
	More d’ark their misery.

They turn their eyes in agony
	On their fathers’ honoured graves;
Can they be children of such sires
	Yet bear the brand of slaves?

Despair is in their blood-shot eye,
	Shame on their burning brow;
Ah! Britain, where’s thy boasted strength? 
	And where thy “glory” now?

The Northern Star, August 15, 1840
The Chartist Circular, August 7, 1841

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