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Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp, the shatter'd spear, |
Clos'd her bright eye, | and curb'd her high career: |
Hope, for a season, bade the world, farewell
And Freedom shriek'd, as Kosciusko fell! |


The sun went down. ; nor ceas'd the carnage there',
Tumultuous murder, shook the midnight air :|
On Prague's proud archa, the fires of ruin glow, |
His blood-dy'd waters, murmuring far below: |
The storm prevails', | the rampart yields away', |
Bursts the wild cry of horror, and dismay! |
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, |
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy, call! |
Earth shook', red meteors flash'd along the sky', I
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry,! |


Departed spirits of the mighty dead! |
Ye that at Marathon, and Leuc'tra bled! |
Friends of the world! | restore your swords to man', |
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van! |
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood', atone', I
And make her arm puissant as your own, |
O! once again to Freedom's cause return', |
Thou patriot Tell' — thou Bruce of Bannockburn! |




There was a sound of revelry by night; |
And Belgium's capital | had gather'd then
Her beauty, and her chivalry; | and bright,
The lamps shone, o'er fair women, and brave men ; |
A thousand hearts beat happily; and, when
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,


Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again ; | And all went merry as a marriage-bell But hush!|hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell'!|


Proud arch; not prow-darch'. Soft eyes; not sof-ties'.

Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street — | On with the dance! | let joy be unconfin'd ; | No sleep till morn', when Youth, and Pleasure meet | To chase the glowing hours, with flying feet — | But hark` !— \ that heavy sound breaks in once more', | As if the clouds its echo would repeat'; | And nearer, clearer, | dead'lier than before! | Arm! | arm! | it is.— it is the cannon's opening roar.! |

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Within a window'd niche of that high hall, Sate Brunswick's fated chief tain; | he did hear That sound the first, amidst the festival, | And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; | And, when they smil'd, because he deem'd it near, | His heart more truly knew that peal too well', | Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, | And rous'd the vengeance, blood alone could quell:| He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting, fell. |

Ah! then, and there, was hurrying to, and fro, | And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress', | I And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago, Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness. | And there were sudden part'ings, | such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs | Which ne'er might be repeated; | who could guess | If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, | Since upon night so sweet, such awful morn could rise?,


And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, | Went pouring forward with impetuous speed`, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; | And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar! | And near the beat of the alarming drum | Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star'; | While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, | Or whispering, with white lips,-wh«The foe! | They

come! they come!" |


And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! | 2The war-note of Lochiel', which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard too, have her Saxon foes:- i How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills', | Savage, and shrill, ! | But with the breath which fills, Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers' | With the fierce native daring, which instils, I The stirring memory of a thousand years; | And Evan's, Don`ald's fame, | rings in each clansman's

ears! |

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, |
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, | as they pass,, |
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, |
Over the unreturning brave,,- | alas! |
Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass |
Which now beneath' them, but above shall grow, |
In its next verdure, | when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold, and low.|

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life'; [
Last eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay; |

The midnight, brought the signal sound of strife; |
The morn, the marshalling in arms', the day,
Battle's magnificently-stern array! |

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, | T The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, I Which her own clay shall cover, | heap'd and pent, | Rider, and horse', | friend, | foe', burial blent! |

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At midnight, in his guarded tent, |

The Turk, was dreaming of the hour, | When Greece, | her knee in suppliance bent, |

Should tremble at his power: |


1 Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece. He fell in a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the

In dreams, through camp, and court, he bore, i The trophies of a con'queror; |

In dreams his song of triumph, heard ;a | Then, wore his monarch's sig.net-ring; | Then press'd that monarch's throne, a king';| As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden-bird. |


'At midnight, in the forest-shades', |
'Bozza ris rang'd his Suliote band
True as the steel of their tried blades', |
Heroes in heart, and hand. |

There had the Persian's thou'sands stood; |
There had the glad earth, drunk their blood, |
On old Platæ 'a's day- 1
And now there breath'd that haunted air, |
The sons of sires who con'quer'd there, |
With arm to strike, and soul to dare', I
As quick, as far as they. |

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'An hour pass'd on the Turk awoke — 1 That bright dream was his last; |

He woke to hear his sentries shriek

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ff To arms! they come ! the Greek! the Greek`!”| He woke to die. midst flame, and smoke, | And shout, and groan, and sa bre-stroke, |

And death-shots falling thick, and fast, | As lightnings from the moun'tain-cloud; | And heard, with voice as trumpet-loud, | Bozzaris cheer his band: |


fff Strike, till the last arm'd foe, expires; | Strike, for your al'tars, and your fires; | Strike for the green graves of sires



God, and your native land!" |

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ancient Platæa, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were "To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."

e Går'dn.


Triumph heard; not tri-um'furd. b Mon'nårks. d Pass'd on; not pass-ton'.


They fought like brave men-long, and well; }
They pil'd that ground with Moslem slain; |
They con'quer'd but Bozzaris fell, |
Bleeding at every vein. |


His few surviving comrades, saw T
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah', |
And the red field was won'; |
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun. |

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'Come to the bridal chamber, Death! | Come to the mother's, when she feels

For the first time, | her first-born's breath- | Come, when the blessed seals


That close the pestilence, are broke, |
And crowded cities, wail its stroke,
Come in consumption's ghastly form, |
The earthquake shock, the ocean-storm I
2Come when the heart beats high, and warm, |

With banquet-song, and dance', and wine, 1
'And thou art terrible | the tear', |
The groan, the knell', | the pall', the bier; |
And all we know', | or dream', or fear' |
Of agony, are thine. |

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But to the hero, | 3when his sword, I Has won the battle for the free, | "Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; 2And in its hollow tones, are heard, |


* Kům'rådź, saw; not cum'rades-saw.

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"The thanks of millions yet to be. I 3Come, when his task of fame' is wrought I Come with her laurel-leaf, | blood-boughtCome in her crown'ing hour and then, 2Thy sunken eye's unearthly light, I To him is welcome as the sight, I


Of sky, and stars to prison'd men,: |



Bri'dâl; not bridle.

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