L.

Dark children of the hills! ’twas then ye wrought Deeds of fierce daring, rudely, sternly grand; As midst your craggy citadels ye fought, And women mingled with your warrior band. Then on the cliff the frantic mother stood[34] High o’er the river’s darkly-rolling wave, And hurl’d, in dread delirium, to the flood Her free-born infant, ne’er to be a slave. For all was lost--all, save the power to die The wild indignant death of savage liberty.