Hark—hark the voice of anguish,
Borne over Freedom's plains;
A groan from those, who languish
In slavery and in chains!
'Tis wafted o'er the mountains,
From Camden's sacred field,
From Eutaw's hallow'd fountains
Where patriot blood was spill'd!

Hark—hark the clank of fetters,
From shady grove and dell,
A shriek, where Freedom's martyrs
In glorious combat fell!
What! stripes and chains and fetters,
In Freedom's boasted land,
Where Liberty's proud altars,
And tow'ring temples stand?

Is this the Home of freedom,
Of truth and holy light?
Where millions grope in thraldom,
Depriv'd of ev'ry right!—
A refuge from oppression
For Europe's sons to share;
While for a dark complexion
Her own the chain must wear?

Say, is that voice of wailing—
That undissembled cry—
That tale the slave is telling—
Not worth a single sigh?
And shall their many sorrows
Be heard by us in vain?
No—no!—we'll end their horrors,
We'll break off ev'ry chain.