Her banner float above thy waves

Where proudly it hath swept before?
Hath not remembrance then a charm

To break the fetter and the chain;
To bid thy children nerve the arm,
And strike for freedom once again?

No! coward souls! the light which shone
On Leuctra's war-empurpled day,
The light which beamed on Marathon,
Hath lost its splendour, ceased to play :
And thou art but a shadow now,

With helmet shattered, spear in rust;
Thine honour but a dream, and thou
Despised, degraded, in the dust!

Where sleeps the spirit, that of old

Dashed down to earth the Persian plume;

When the loud chant of triumph told,

How fatal was the despot's doom?
The bold three hundred-where are they,
Who died on battle's gory breast?

Tyrants have trampled on the clay,

Where death has hushed them into rest.

Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill,

A glory shines of ages fled;

GREECE.

And fame her light is pouring still,
Not on the living, but the dead!
But 'tis the dim sepulchral light
Which sheds a faint and feeble ray,
As moon-beams on the brow of night,
When tempests sweep upon their way.

Greece! yet awake thee from thy trance;
Behold thy banner waves afar;
Behold the glittering weapons glance
Along the gleaming front of war!
A gallant chief of high emprize*
Is urging foremost in the field,
Who calls upon thee to arise

In might, in majesty revealed.

In vain, in vain the hero calls;

In vain he sounds the trumpet loud;

His banner totters; see, it falls

In ruin, freedom's battle shroud:
Thy children have no soul to dare
Such deeds as glorified their sires;
Their valour's but a meteor's glare,
Which gleams a moment and expires.

Lost land! where Genius made his reign,
And reared his golden arch on high;

• * Ypsilanti.

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Where science raised her sacred fane,
Its summit peering to the sky;
Upon thy clime the midnight deep

Of ignorance hath brooded long;
And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep

The sons of science and of song.

Thy sun hath set, the evening storm
Hath passed in giant fury by,
To blast the beauty of thy form,
And spread its pall upon thy sky:

Gone is thy glory's diadem,

And freedom never more shall cease

To pour her mournful requiem

O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece!

THE CORAL GROVE.

BY J. G. PERCIVAL.

DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,

That never are wet with falling dew,

But in bright and changeful beauty shine,

Far down in the green and glassy brine,
The floor is of sand like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and the waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air:

There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter:

There, with a light and easy motion,

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THE CORAL GROVE.

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea: And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms, Has made the top of the waves his own: And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore; Then, far below, in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly,

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.