His Weary Warfare Done, His Woes Forgot, Freedom! Thy Son, Oppress'D So Long, Is Free: He Seeks The Realms Where Tyranny Is Not, And Those Shall Hail Him Who Have Died For Thee! Immortal Tell! Receive A Soul Like Thine, Who Scorn'D Obedience To Usurp'D Command: Who Rose A Giant From A Sphere Indign, To Tear The Rod From Proud Oppression'S Hand. Alas! No Victor-Wreaths Enzon'D His Brow, But Freedom Long His Hapless Fate Shall Mourn; Her Holy Tears Shall Nurse The Laurel-Bough, Whose Green Leaves Grace His Consecrated Urn. Nursed By These Tears, That Bough Shall Rise Sublime, And Bloom Triumphant 'Mid The Wrecks Of Time!