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"'Our ships are on every sea,

Our honour has never a stain,

Our law and our commerce are free:

Are we slaves for the tyrant of Spain?

No, no, no, no!

"'Then, sons of Batavia, the spade,--

The spade and the pike and the main,

And the heart and the hand and the blade;

Is there mercy for merciless Spain?

No, no, no, no!'"

By this time the enthusiasm onderful The short, quick denials came

hotter and louder at every verse; and it was easy to understand how

these large, slow men, once kindled to white heat, were both

irresistible and unconquerable Every eye was turned to Joris, who stood

in his ure His face was

full of feeling and purpose, his large blue eyes liradually ceased, he said,-"My friends and neighbours, no poet as burn in the

heart until plain prose cannot utter theht of self-taxation froht Alva, by force of arms, how dear to us was our

ive up our long-cherished right?

Make the blood of our fathers in vain?