But not to that tremendous hour
Does Heaven remit its torturing power;
And ev’n thy tyrant heart shall feel,
That _here_--that _now_--there’s vengeance still!
In vain, thy gorgeous state would hide
Of conscious fear and wounded pride,
The self-inflicted pang;--
Though monarchs to thy car be tied,
Though over half the world beside,
Thy chains of conquest clang,--
Britain and Spain, erect and proud,
Defy thee to the strife aloud,
And wave to Europe’s servile crowd,
The flag of liberty:
In it, thou seest thy glory’s shroud;
It’s shadow, like a thunder cloud,
O’erhangs thy destiny.