THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR. GATHER him to his grave again, And solemnly and softly lay, Beneath the verdure of the plain, The warrior's scattered bones away. Pay the deep reverence, taught of old, Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. The soul hath quickened every part- The awful likeness was impressed. For he was fresher from the hand That formed of earth the human face, And to the elements did stand In nearer kindred, than our race. But met them, and defied their wrath. Then they were kind—the forests here, A tribute to the net and spear Of the red ruler of the shade. The stars looked forth to teach his way, A noble race! but they are gone, Then let us spare, at least, their graves! MIDSUMMER. A SONNET. A POWER is on the earth and in the air, THE GREEK PARTISAN. OUR free flag is dancing In the free mountain air, And warriors gathering there; And fearless is the little train Whose gallant bosoms shield it; The blood that warms their hearts shall stain They go to the slaughter, To strike the sudden blow, And pour on earth, like water, The best blood of the foe; To rush on them from rock and height, Or fire their camp at dead of night, -Chains are round our country pressed, And we must make her bleeding breast The grave of the invader. Not till from her fetters We raise up Greece again, And write, in bloody letters, Oh, not till then the smile shall steal Nor one of all those warriors feel His children's dear embraces. -Reap we not the ripened wheat, Till yonder hosts are flying, And all their bravest, at our feet, Like autumn sheaves are lying. |