To him who steals upon a sleeping foe:

Who only fights the unarmed, unarmed may go.
The beamy splendor of this helmet see,

And

say,

thou dastard! is it fit for thee?

For thee, whom none, but in the dark, e'er dreadA shining helmet for an ambushed head!

And think'st thou that a neck like thine could e'er

The helmet of Achilles learn to bear?

See, too, the spear his mighty hand has hurled,

And the vast shield, where shines the pictured

world,

And say,

if arms like these may not demand

Far other arm than thine, and other hand?

Thine, which, to suit thy soul, were only made
To carry on some vile and furtive trade.

Rash fool! let Greece on thee these arms bestow,
Array thyself, and face the opposing foe-
Dare but one onset on the hostile plain—
Ne'er shall we see, or them, or thee, again;

For what thou could'st not wield in manly fight,
Would stay the wonted swiftness of thy flight;
A rich and easy prize thou would'st appear,

And all would strive to seize what none would fear.
And why should'st thou another's arms require?
Thine own, untouched by foes, are yet entire :
Thy well kept shield no scar of honor bears-
Mine, shows the fierce thrusts of a thousand spears.
But why this war of words? let deeds declare
The worthiest to wield these arms in war;

Let them amid the opposing host be thrown,

And he who wins them, wear them as his own."

WHOSE fair abode is this? whose happy lot
Has drawn them in these peaceful shades to rest,
And hear the distant hum of busy life?

The city's noise, its clouds of smoke and dust,
Vainly invade these leafy walls that wave
On high around it, sheltering all within,
And wooing the scared bird to stay its flight
And add its note of joy to bless the scene:
The city's toils, and cares, and strifes are, sure,
Alike excluded here-Content here smiles

And reigns, and leads her vot'ries through the

maze

Of flower-embroidered walks to bowers of bliss :

O! 't is a sight to warm the heart of him

Who feels for man, and shares the joys he sees.

My feet have pierced these shades, and I have seen,
Within what seemed so fair, this mansion's tenants :
O! 't is a sight to chill, to freeze the heart
Of him who feels for man, who pitying views
The wreck of human bliss, and sighs to see
That he can only pity griefs past cure,

And sorrows that no sympathy can soothe.
Here Pleasure never comes, Hope never smiles
But to delude to a more deep despair;

Here are shut out all joys that sweeten life,
Here are shut in, life's outcasts; Madness here,
Monarch of terrors, holds his awful court;

On high-piled human skulls his throne is fixed,
His bursting brows a burning iron crown
Confines, and blends its fires with fiercer flames
That from his ghastly eye-balls wildly glare;

A robe of straw his giant form conceals;
His hand a leaden sceptre wields, each point
With terrors armed. Ice, never melting, gleams
From the one; from the other, fire unquenchable:
Each, as it points to his devoted prey,
With cold, or heat, or freezes or inflames
The chambers of the brain, and stupefies
And chills to dullest idiocy, or fires

To frenzy's wild unutterable rage.

Such are the throng that here around him wait, Showing, in all their sad variety,

The awful visitations of his power;

Here the cold gaze of fixed fatuity

Tells that no feeble ray of thought e'er gleams
O'er the wide waste of desolated mind;

Here the wild raving and the maniac yell
Reveal a phantom seated on the throne
Wrested from reason, ruling all within,

Exulting in the never ceasing storm.