II.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill-- They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill-- They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.