Still Panonia pines away,

Vassal of a double sway:

Still Thy servants groan in chains,
Still the race which hates Thee reigns:
Part the living from the dead:

Join the members to the head:

Snatch Thine own sheep from yon fell monster's hold; Let one kind shepherd rule one undivided fold.

IIe is the victor, only he
Who reaps the fruits of victory.

We conquered once in vain,
When foamed the Ionian waves with gore,
And heaped Lepanto's stormy shore

With wrecks and Moslem slain.
Yet wretched Cyprus never broke
The Syrian tyrant's iron yoke.
Shall the twice vanquished foe
Again repeat his blow?

Shall Europe's sword be hung to rust in peace?
No-let the red-cross ranks

Of the triumphant Franks

Bear swift deliverance to the shrines of Greece;
And in her inmost heart let Asia feel

The avenging plagues of Western fire and steel.

Oh God! for one short moment raise
The veil which hides those glorious days.
The flying foes I see thee urge

Even to the river's headlong verge.
Close on their rear the loud uproar
Of fierce pursuit from Ister's shore
Comes pealing on the wind;
The Rab's wild waters are before,
The Christian sword behind.
Sons of perdition, speed your flight.
No earthly spear is in the rest;
No earthly champion leads to fight
The warriors of the West.

The Lord of Hosts asserts His old

renown,

Scatters, and smites, and slays, and tramples down.
Fast, fast, beyond what mortal tongue can say,
Or mortal fancy dream,

He rushes on his prey :

Till, with the terrors of the wondrous theme Bewildered and appalled, I cease to sing,

And close my dazzled eye, and rest my wearied wing.

THE LAST BUCCANEER.

(1839.)

THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,

The sky was black and drear,

When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship with

out a name

Alongside the last Buccaneer.

"Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale, When all others drive bare on the seas?

Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"

"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,

Without rudder or needle we steer;

Above, below, our bark, dies the sea fowl and the shark,

As we fly by the last Buccaneer.

"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde

A loud crash, and a louder roar;

And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning

sweep

The corpses and wreck to the shore."

The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride
In the breath of the citron shades;

And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast,
Through the sea of the balmy Trades.

From St. Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,

The seaman goes forth without fear;

For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.

EPITAPII ON A JACOBITE.

(1845.)

To my true king I offered free from stain
Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
For him I languished in a foreign clime,
Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,
Each morning started from the dream to weep;
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
The resting place I asked, an early grave.

Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
From that proud country which was once mine own,
By those white cliffs I never more must see,
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.