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Lyre ! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,
Solace of my bleeding heart; Lyre! O Lyre ! my only pleasure,
We must now for ever part ;
Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings;
and scorn. " That which ALEXANDER sighed for,
That which CÆSAR's soul possessed,
Glory!-animates my breast :
Pour their death-defying notes ; • To arms !' they call : to arms I fly, Like WOLFE to conquer, and like Wolfe to die. “Soft!- the blood of murdered legions
Summons vengeance from the skies ; Flaming towns and ravaged regions,
All in awful judgment rise.--
I will wrestle with the wave;
Waft me to that happy shore,
Indian realms their treasures pour;
Rich in honesty and wealth,
In their lowly dwellings sing :
I will scatter o'er the land
Blessings with a secret hand;
Sighed to every passing breeze,
Of the patriarch of trees ; High in air his harp he hung,
Now no more to rapture strung ; Then warm in hope, no longer pale, He blushed adieu, and rambled down the dale. Lightly touched by fairy fingers,
Hark !—the Lyre enchants the wind; Fond Alcxus listens, lingers,
-Lingering, listening, looks behind. Now the music mounts on high,
Sweetly swelling through the sky;
Soft in ecstasies expire ;
Poor Alcķos grasps the Lyre.
In a tempest o'er the strings ; He strikes the chords so quick, so loud, ’T is Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud.
Lyre ! O Lyre ! my chosen treasure,
Solace of my bleeding heart;
We will never, never part.
“ What, though all the world neglect me,
Shall my haughty soul repine?
While this hallowed Lyre is mine?
Many a wrathful vial shed,
ON THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND.
Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a while, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!
Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,Oh! Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high! And swear for her to live with her to die !
He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed
In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew: Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career ; Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked-as KOSCIUSKO fell!
The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight airOn Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wide cry of horror and dismay ! Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! Earth shook-red meteors flashed along the sky, And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry!
Oh! righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod That smote the foes of Zion and of God; That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar ? Where was the storm that slumbered till the host Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast ; Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, And heaved an ocean on their march below?
Departed spirits of the mighty dead !
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
Yes! thy proud lords, un pitied land ! shall see That man hath yet a soul and dare be free! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of Desolation reigns ; Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, Her name, her nature, withered from the world!
EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
* TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
With hospitable ray.
With fainting steps and slow;
Seem lengthening as I go.
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
To lure thee to thy doom.
My door is open still;
I give it with good will.