HE who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers),
And marked the mild angelic air,
The rapture of repose that's there,
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And-but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not,

now,

And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold Obstruction's apathy

Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;-
Yes, but for these and these alone,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
The first, last look by death revealed!
Such is the aspect of this shore;

'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray,

A gilded halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of Feeling passed

away!

Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,

Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!

Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopyla? These waters blue that round you lave,O servile offspring of the free, Pronounce, what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise and make again your own! Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires! And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace; Enough-No foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell; Yes! Self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot sway.

""BRING forth the horse!"-the horse was brought;

In truth he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who looked as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With spur and bridle undefiled-

'Twas but a day he had been caught;
And snorting, with erected main,
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread
To me the desert-born was led:
They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong;
Then loosened him with a sudden lash-
Away!-away!-and on we dash!
Torrents less rapid and less rash.

'Away, away, my steed and I,

Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind;
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with its crackling sound the night
Is chequered with the northern light:

The sky was dull, and dim, and grey,
And a low breeze crept moaning by-
I could have answered with a sigh-
But fast we fled, away, away,
And I could neither sigh nor pray;
And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
Upon the courser's bristling mane;
But, snorting still with rage and fear,
He flew upon his far career.

'We neared the wild wood-'twas so wide,
I saw no bounds on either side;
'Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
That bent not to the roughest breeze
Which howls down from Siberia's waste,
And strips the forest in its haste-

['Twas a wild waste of underwood,
And here and there a chestnut stood,
The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
But far apart-and well it were,
Or else a different lot were mine---

The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs; and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarred with cold;
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;

By night I heard them on the track,
Their troop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire:
Where'er we flew they followed on,
Nor left us with the morning sun;
Behind I saw them scarce a rood,
At day-break winding through the wood,
And through the night had heard their feet
Their stealing, rustling step repeat.]

'The wood was past; 'twas more than

noon,

But chill the air, although in June;'

Or it might be my veins ran cold-
Prolonged endurance tames the bold;

The earth gave way, the skies rolled round,
I seemed to sink upon the ground;
But erred, for I was fastly bound.

My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
And throbbed awhile, then beat no more:
The skies spun like a mighty wheel;

I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
Which saw no farther: he who dies
Can die no more than then I died.
O'ertortured by that ghastly ride,
I felt the blackness come and go.

'My thoughts came back; where was I? cold,

And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
Life reassumed its lingering hold,
And throb by throb,-till grown a pang

Which for a moment would convulse,
My blood reflowed, though thick and
chill;

My ear with uncouth noises rang,

My heart began once more to thrill; My sight returned, though dim; alas! And thickened, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam too of the sky, Studded with stars;-it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream, The bright broad river's gushing tide!

'With glossy skin, and dripping mane, And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank.

The weary brute still staggered on;
And still we were-or seemed-alone.
At length, while reeling on our way,
Methought I heard a courser neigh,
From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
Is it the wind those branches stirs ?
No, no! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop; I see them come!
In one vast squadron they advance!

I strove to cry-my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse, and none to ride!

A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,

Came thickly thundering on,
As if our faint approach to meet;
The sight re-nerved my courser's feet;
A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
A moment, with a faint low neigh,
He answered, and then fell;
With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
And reeking limbs immovable,

His first and last career is done!
On came the troop-they saw him stoop,
They saw me strangely bound along
His back with many a bloody thong:
They stop, they start, they snuff the air,
Gallop a moment here and there,
Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
Then plunging back with sudden bound,

They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside,
And backward to the forest fly,
By instinct, from a human eye.

They left me there to my despair, Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate

Nor him nor me--and there we lay,
The dying on the dead!

I little deemed another day

Would see my houseless, helpless head.

'I woke where was I?-Do I see
A human face look down on me?
And doth a roof above me close?
Do these limbs on a couch repose?
Is this a chamber where I lie?
And is it mortal, yon bright eye,
That watches me with gentle glance?
I closed my own again once more,
As doubtful that my former trance
Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-haired, and tall,
Sate watching by the cottage wall;
The sparkle of her eye I caught,
Even with my first return of thought:
For ever and anon she threw

A prying, pitying glance on me
With her black eyes so wild and free:
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew
No vision it could be,-

And when the Cossack maid beheld My heavy eyes at length unsealed, She smiled-and I essayed to speak.

'She came with mother and with sire-
What need of more?-I will not tire
With long recital of the rest,
Since I became the Cossack's guest.
They found me senseless on the plain,

They bore me to the nearest hut,
They brought me into life again—
Me-one day o'er their realm to reign!
Thus the vain fool who strove to glut

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THREE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered 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 looked 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!

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 unconfined; 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, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar !

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did

hear

That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deemed it
near,

His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could
quell;

He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, 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 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering, with white lips-'The foe! they come! they come!"

And wild and high the Camerons' gathering' rose!

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills

Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,

Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald'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