Puslapio vaizdai
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Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rushed to battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurled them at the foe.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due,
Empire is on us bestowed,
Shame and ruin wait for you.

FRIEND of the brave! in peril's darkest' hour,
Intrepid Virtue' looks to thee for power';
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields,
On stormy floods' and carnage-covered fields',
When front to front the bannered hosts' combine,
Halt ere they close', and form the dreadful line'.
When all is still' on Death's devoted soil,
The march-worn soldier' mingles for the toil';
As rings his glittering tube', he lifts on high
The dauntless brow', and spirit-speaking eye',
Hails in his heart the triumph' yet to come,
And hears the stormy music' in the drum'!

And such' thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron' to his native shore'-
In horrid' climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep',
'Twas his' to mourn misfortune's rudest' shock,
Scourged by the winds', and cradled on the rock',
To wake each joyless' morn, and search again
The famished haunts of solitary` men ;
Whose race', unyielding as their native storm',
Know not a trace' of Nature but the form';
Yet, at thy' call, the hardy tar pursued',
Pale', but intrepid', sad', but unsubdued',
Pierced the deep woods', and, hailing from afar,
The moon's pale planet and the northern star';
Paused at each dreary cry', unheard before',
Hyænas' in the wild', and mermaids' on the shore';


Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime', >
He found a warmer' world, a milder' clime,
A home' to rest', a shelter' to defend',
Peace' and repose', a Briton' and a friend) !



HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind,
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind,
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be ;
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,
And learn the future by the past of man.


Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time,
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime;
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore,
Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk;
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray,
And shepherds dance at summer's opening day ;
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,
And silent watch, on woodland heights around,
The village curfew as it tolls profound.

Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains roam,
Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home;
Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines,
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines,
Truth shall pervade the unfathomed darkness there,
And light the dreadful features of despair.—
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load,
And asks the image back that Heaven bestowed!
Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns,
And, as the slave departs, the man returns.


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
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death,-the watch-word and reply ;
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm !-

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 wo! 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 wild 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!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return


TYRANTS! in vain ye trace the wizard ring;
In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring:
What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep,
Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep?
No!-the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand :-
It rolled not back when Canute gave command!

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow ?
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow?
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furled?
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world?
What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied?
Why then hath Plato lived-or Sydney died?—

Ye fond adorers of departed fame,
Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name!
Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire
The sword of Brutus and the Theban lyre!
Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore

Each classic haunt and well-remembered shore,
Where Valour tuned, amid her chosen throng,
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ;
Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms
Of England's glory and Helvetia's arms!

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