They took the rose-wreath d lyres

From eunuch and from slave, And taught the languid wires

The sounds that Freedom gave.

But now the morning star

Crown'd Eta's twilight brow; And the Persian horn of war

From the hills began to blow.

Up rose the glorious rank,

To Greece one cup pour'd high,Then hand in hand, they drank

* To Immortality!"

Fear on King Xerxes fell,

When, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and trumpet-knell,

He saw the warriors come.

But down swept all his power,

With chariot and with charge; Down pour’d the arrowy shower,

Till sank the Dorian's targe.

They gather'd round the tent,

With all their strength unstrung; To Greece one look they sent,

Then on high their torches flung.

Their King sat on the throne,

His captains by his side, While the flame rush'd roaring on,

And their Pæan loud replied !

Thus fought the Greek of old !

Thus will he fight again! Shall not the self-same mould

Bring forth the self-same men?

THE STARS.

Ye stars! bright legions that, before all time,
Camp'd on yon plain of sapphire, what shall tell
Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him
Who bade thro’ heaven your golden chariots wheel ?
Yet who earthborn can see your hosts, nor feel
Immortal impulses- Eternity ?
What wonder if the oʻerwrought soul should reel

With its own weight of thought, and the wild eye
See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?

For ye behold the Mightiest. From that steep
What ages have ye worshipp'd round your King?
Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the sleep
Of Earth ;-ye heard the morning angels sing.
Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering,
The
gaze

of Adam fix`d from Paradise; The wanderers of the Deluge saw it spring

Above the mountain surge, and hail'd its rise Lighting their lonely track with Hope's celestial dyes.

On Calvary shot down that purple eye,
When, but the soldier and the sacrifice,
All were departed.-Mount of Agony!
But Time's broad pinion, ere the giant dies,
Shall cloud your dome.—Ye fruitage of the skies,
Your vineyard shall be shaken!-From your urn
Censers of Heaven! no more shall glory rise,
Your incense to the Throne!--The Heavens shall

burn: For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust return.

Yet look ye living intellects.—The trine
Of waning planets speaks it not decay?
Does Schedir's staff of diamond wave no sign?
Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy ray
Undimm'd, when thrones sublunar pass away?
Dreams!-yet if e'er was graved in vigil wan
Your spell on gem or imaged alchemy,

The sign when empire's hour-glass downwards ran, 'Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen talisman.

From Paris in 1815, Part II.

EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI.

The Guillotine.—It stood in that pale day
Like a huge spectre, just from earth upsprung,
To summon to the tomb the fierce array
That round its feet in desperate homage clung.
But on the wind a sudden trumpet rung.
All eyes were turn'd, and far as eye could stray,
Was caught a light, from moving helmets flung,

A banner tossing in the tempest's sway,
A wain, that thro' the throng slow toild its weary way.

'Tis done, the monarch on the scaffold stands;
The headsmen grasp him!—Of the myriads there,
That hear his voice, that see his fetter'd hands,
Not one has given a blessing or a tear;
But that old priest who answers him in prayer.
He speaks: his dying thoughts to France are given,
His voice is drown'd; for murder has no ear.

The saint unmurmuring to the axe is driven.
If ever spirit rose, that heart is calm in Heaven.

From Paris in 1815.

THINGS TO COME.

There are murmurs on the deep,

There are thunders on the heaven; Though the ocean billows sleep,

Though no cloud the sign has given; Earth that sudden storm shall feel, 'Tis a storm of man and steel. Tribes are in their forests now,

Idly hunting ounce and deer;
Tribes are crouching in their snow

O'er their wild and wintry cheer,
Doom'd to swell that tempest's roar,
Where the torrent-rain is gore.
War of old has swept the world,

Guilt has shaken strength and pride; But the thunders, feebly hurld,

Quiver'd o'er the spot, and died;
When the vengeance next shall fall,
Woe to each and woe to all.
Man hath shed Man's blood for toys,

Love and hatred, fame and gold;
Now, a mightier wrath destroys;

Earth in cureless crime grows old; Past destruction shall be tame To the rushing of that flame. When the clouds of Vengeance break,

Folly shall be on the wise,
Frenzy shall be on the weak,

Nation against nation rise,
And the worse than Pagan sword
In Religion's breast be gored.
Then the Martyr's solemn cry,

That a thousand years has rung,
Where their robes of crimson lie

Round the Golden Altar' flung, Shall be heard,—and from the 'throne' The trumpet of the Judgment' blown. “Woe to Earth, the mighty, woe!”

Yet shall Earth her conscience lull, Till above the brim shall flow The draught of gall.—The cup is full.

Yet a moment!-Comes the ire,-
Famine, bloodshed, flood, and fire.

First shall fall a Mighty one!

Ancient crime had crown'd his brow,
Dark Ambition raised his throne-

Truth his victim and his foe.
Earth shall joy in all her fear
O'er the great Idolater.
Then shall rush abroad the blaze

Sweeping Heathen zone by zone;
Afric's tribe the spear shall raise,

Shivering India's pagod throne;
China hear her Idol's knell
In the Russian's cannon-peal.
On the Turk shall fall the blow

From the Grecian's dagger'd hand!
Blood like winter-showers shall flow,

Till he treads the Syrian land!
Then shall final vengeance shine,
And all be seal'd in Palestine!

THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

The air is fill’d with shouts, and trumpets' sounding;
A host are at thy gates, Jerusalem.
Now is their van the Mount of Olives rounding;
Above them Judah's lion-banners gleam,
Twined with the palm and olives' emerald stem.
Now swell the nearer sounds of voice and string,
As down the hill-side pours the living stream;

And to the cloudless heaven Hosannas ring “ The Son of David comes !—the Conqueror—the King!"

The cuirass’d Roman heard; and grasp'd his shield, And rush'd in fiery haste to gate and tower; The Pontiff from his battlement beheld The host, and knew the falling of his power: He saw the cloud on Sion's glory lour. Still down the marble road the myriads come, Spreading the way with garment, branch, and flower, And deeper sounds are mingling, “ Woe to Rome! “ The day of freedom dawns; rise, Israel, froin thy tomb!"