The following poem was written by Charles Cole and originally appeared in A Poetical Address to his Grace the Duke of Wellington (1835). It has been transcribed by Stephen Basdeo.

Albeit untaught to wake the lyre,

Long as I feel the sacred fire

Of Liberty within my breast,

My thoughts shall proudly be exprest;

For, I delight in Freedom so,

It matters not where’er I go;

Her name is to my lip so sweet,

I murmur it to all I meet,

And glow with rapture, when the truth

I utter to some list’ning youth,

Seems all his mind to occupy

And lights the young Enthusiast’s eye:

Oh! then I live, then-then I feel,

As saint, who, in his holy zeal,

Awakens firm belief in those

Whom Error still would make his foes.

It is a glorious task to sow

Sweet thoughts of Liberty, to grow

In hearts which shall, when mine is old,

Be young, and warm when mine is cold:

Plant Freedom in the infant breast,

‘Twill never yield to be opprest

Let children, from the cradle, learn

The snares of tyranny to spurn,

Then, as the brood of willing slaves

Drop one by one, into their graves,

A nobler race of Man shall rise,

Whom tyrants shall not dare despise,

A race, who shall not strive in vain

To dash Oppressions hateful chain,

In proud derision, to the earth,

And trample it ‘mid peals of mirth,

Crushing the links, with fervid glee,

“Mid shouts and songs of Liberty!