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They claim thee for the last

Of all that valiant race;
The Grecians of the past,
To whom the battle and the chase,
The war-ship tumbling to the blast,

The stormy night,
The thunder and the fight,

Were pastime and repose ?
Up, ther, and take thy stand

Amid the shadowy band !
Outspread thy banner o'er them,
Go, as thou should'st, before them;

Hear thou their call,

Awake! and fall
Like the bright thunder on their foes !

On with thy helmet! set thy foot

Where'er thou art-
Strike down the infidel, and put
Thy mailed hand upon thy slumbering heart,

Or on the nearest altar, where,
Unstain’d with revel, blood, or wine,
Stands many an everlasting shrine,

Wrapp'd in perpetual cloud,

For ever echoing loud,
And sounding to the mountain air,

With voices wild, remote, and high,

Like fanes of ancient prophecy.
Built by the cherubim, of solid rock,
Into the broad blue heaven-to mock
The thunder and the Moslem shock-

The armies of the earth and sky!

0 Thou!
Of steadfast eye,
And cold, intrepid brow,
Whose marble amplitude

Is frightful now,
There is thy place of worship—there !

And this the hour!
Go up, thou Sleeper! go with loosen'd hair;
Go up into the cloud, and then forbear

To join the awful interlude,

The wild and solemn harmony

Of that afflicted solitude, Bard of the Ocean, if thou canst, in one eternal prayer!

What!
Still changing not,
Still motionless and pale,

And damp, and cold,
Unmoved by trumpet, prayer, or song,

The stirring gale,
Or noise of coming strife,

Or thunder near thee rollid :
The nations that have known thee long
Unheeded marching by,

Where thou art lying ;
The Spartan wise—the Spartan strong,
Scared women with their garments flying,

As if pursued
By some great multitude-
Young children all about thee crying,

And thou, alone,
Immoveable as if_thy blood were turn'd to stone !

Why! what art thou,
Man of the solid brow;

O what!

To alter not,
Nor change, nor stir thyself, nor wake,
Though all the nations try to break

Thy trance profound !
Nay, though they altogether take
T'he place of supplication round

The silent spot,
The cold extinguished ground,

Where thou art now,

Until

They overcast
Thy spirit, Sleeper, with a last

And most awakening spell--
A spell of power and sorcery

For all that dwell
Beneath the water or the sky,

Or fill
The vaulted mystery,

That silent flies
For ever o'er our upturn'd eyes-

Showering the dew
Like a shower of light
From the beautiful blue

Of a beautiful night:
Up, then, awake?

Up from thy charmed slumber! break
Thy long and sorrowful trance!

Now! Now!

Advance!
Ye of the snowy brow,
Each in her overpowering splendor !

The young

Superb and desolate,
The beautiful and tender!

Advance!
Ye shadows of his child and wife,
And thrill the sleeper into life!

and great,

*

Now heaven be thanked! he lies

Regardless of our cries,

Rejoice! Rejoice! Children of Greece, rejoice! No change nor trouble shall come again To the island-bard of the deep blue main;

Nor blight nor blast

To overcast
The brightness of his name ;

Rejoice! Rejoice!
All
ye

that have loved the man, rejoice,
Throughout the world!
He cannot, now,

From the precipice brow
Of Glory's hill be hurl'd ?

And you, ye men of Greece,
For his heart is yours
While time endures-

A flame
That will burn eternally-
And sound that will never cease!

And ye that have loved him, where
There's freedom in the air,

O peace!
For his beautiful eyes,

Under Grecian skies,
Were shut by the hands of Grecian men

And the voice of his heart

Will never depart Away from the land of the brave again :

O peace!
For he lifted his head,

With a sorrowful look,
When the spirit fled,

And the temple shook,
Forgetful of all that were nearest;

And he thought of his home

O'er the ocean foam;
And call'd upon them that were dearest;
The mother and the blue-eyed child,*

Far, far away,
And all that in his morning smiled
When he was innocent as they-

O peace!
For his loving voice will haunt the place

Of their green repose,
Where'er they may lie interr'd,
Like his own sweet, unseen bird,

That pale and blighted rose:f
But where the warriors of the household lie,

And they that dwelt in minstrelsy,
His voice will sound with a warlike tone,

Like the distant cry
Of trumpets when the wind is high:

O peace!
Peace to the ancient halls !
Peace to the darken'd walls !
And peace to the troubled family,
For never again shall one of them be

A moment on earth alone,
A spirit, wherever they go,

Shall go for ever before them;
A shelter from every foe,
A guardian hovering o'er them;

O peace!
For every trace

Of his glorious face
Shall be preserved in the sculptured stone!

Embalm'd by Greece,

And multiplied
On every side,
Instinct with immortality-

* The last words of Byron related to his wife and child. t In the Giaour.

His rest for aye in the warrior-grave-
His heart in the tomb of the Grecian brave;

His marble head
Enthroned on high, to be
Like the best of her ancient dead,

A sculptured thought of liberty —

A boding forth of Poesy
To wake the youthful ages hence,-

The gifted of Omnipotence.

ODE TO PEACE.

Up with thy banners! Out with all thy strength

Rock-hearted country of the brave and wise ! Huge fortress of the North! unfurl at length

All thy sharp streamers o'er the flashing skies

Thou that of old, if but a shadow fell

The shadow only of a coming foe,
Athwart thy bulwarks-heard the stormy swell

Of countless armies gathering below
Thy deep foundations; all thy ancient woods

Upwaking with a heavy solemn roar,
Thy rocks, thy rivers and thy solitudes,

And the great sea that broke upon thy shore,

Out-thundering to the nations! with the noise

Of strange artillery in the earth and sky,
Chariots and horsemen, such as God employs,

When he would startle to new energy
The o'ertired Universe. Up with thee now !

Child of the North-New England-Up and heave Thy sumptuous drapery to the wind! Thy brow

Begirt with adamant, lay bare ; and leave The lurid panoply of death ; and go

Forth like the mightiest and the best of them
Who, if they move to grapple with a foe,

Put on a snowy robe—a diadem
Of triple stars. Up with thee, in thy grave
And awful beauty! Let the nations hear

10

VOL. III.

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