Rise Like Lions! “Stand ye calm and resolute, Like a forest close and mute, With folded arms and looks which are Weapons of unvanquished war. And if then the tyrants dare, Let them ride among you there; Slash, and stab, and maim and hew; What they like, that let them do. With folded arms and steady eyes, And little fear, and less surprise, Look upon them as they slay, Till their rage has died away: Then they will return with shame, To the place from which they came, And the blood thus shed will speak In hot blushes on their cheek: Rise, like lions after slumber In unvanquishable number! Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you: Ye are many—they are few! Men of England, heirs of Glory, Heroes of unwritten story, Nurslings of one mighty Mother, Hopes of her, and one another! What is Freedom? Ye can tell That which Slavery is too well, For its very name has grown To an echo of your own Let a vast assembly be, And with great solemnity Declare with measured words, that ye Are, as God has made ye, free. The old laws of England—they Whose reverend heads with age are grey, Children of a wiser day; And whose solemn voice must be Thine own echo—Liberty! Rise, like lions after slumber In unvanquishable number! Shake your chains to earth, like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you: Ye are many—they are few!" The Masque Of Anarchy. Shelley, 1819.