TO BROTHER JONATHAN.

Ho! Brother, I'm a Britisher,
A chip of heart of oak

That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir
From what I thought or spoke,—
And you-a blunt and honest man,
Straightforward, kind, and true,
I tell you, Brother Jonathan,
That you're a Briton too.

I know your heart, an open heart,
I read your mind and will,
A greyhound ever on the start
To run for honour still;

And shrewd to scheme a likely plan,
And stout to see it done,

I tell you, Brother Jonathan,
That you and I are one!

There may be jealousies and strife,

For men have selfish ends,

But petty quarrels ginger1 life,

And help to season friends;

And pundits who, with solemn scan,'

Judge humans' most aright,

Decide it, testy Jonathan,

That brothers always fight.

Two fledgling sparrows in one nest
Will chirp about a worm,

Then how should eaglets meekly rest,

The children of the storm?

No! while their rustled pinions fan

The eyrie's dizzy side,

Like you and me, my Jonathan,

It's all for Love and Pride!

"God save the Queen" delights you still,

And "British Grenadiers,"

The good old strains your heartstrings thrill,

And catch you by both ears;

And we,-O hate us if you can,

For we are proud of you,

We like you, Brother Jonathan,

And "Yankee Doodle" too!

There's nothing foreign in your face,

Nor strange upon your tongue,

You come not of another race,

From baser lincage sprung;

55

No, brother! though away you ran
As truant-boys will do,

Still true it is, young Jonathan,
My fathers father'd you.

Time was,-it wasn't long ago,-
Your grandsire went with mine
To battle traitors, blow for blow,
For England's royal line;

Or tripp'd to court to kiss Queen Anne,
Or worship mighty Bess:

And you and I, good Jonathan,
Went with them then, I guess.'

Together both,-'twas long ago,——
Among the Roses fought;

Or charging fierce the Paynim foe
Did all knight-errants ought;
As Cavalier or Puritan
Together pray'd or swore,

For John's own Brother Jonathan
Was only John of yore!

There lived a man, a man of men,
A king on fancy's throne;
We ne'er shall see his like again,
The globe is all his own;

And if we claim him of our clan,
He half belongs to you,

For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan,
Is yours and Britain's too!

There was another glorious name,
A poet for all time,

Who gain'd the double-first of fame,
The beautiful-sublime;

And let us hide him if we can,

More miserly than pelf,

Our Yankee brother Jonathan

Cries "halves" in Milton's self!

Well, well and every praise of old,
That makes us famous still,

You would be just, and may be bold
To share it if you will,-

Since England's glory first began,

Till just the other day,

The half is yours; but, Jonathan,
Why did you run away?

SONG OF THE GREEK BARD.

O Brother, could we both be one,
In nation and in name;

How gladly would the very sun
Lie basking in our fame!
In either world to lead the van,
And go-a-head for good,

While earth to John and Jonathan
Yields tribute gratitude!

Add but your stripes and golden stars
To brave St. George's cross,

And never dream of mutual wars,
Two dunces' mutual loss;

Let us two bless, where others ban,

And love when others hate,

And so, my cordial Jonathan,

We'll fit, I calculate.'

What more? I touch not holier strings
A loftier strain to win;

Nor glance at prophets, priests, and kings,
Or heavenly kith or kin.

As friend with friend, and man with man,
O let our hearts be thus,

As David's love to Jonathan,
Be Jonathan's to us!

1. These words and phrases are Americanisms. They are of course here purposely brought in, by way of compliment, but they ought to be cautiously used.

TUPPER.

57

2. Pundit, in the Hindostan language, means a learned Brahmin; one versed in Sanscrit, and in the sciences, laws, &c. of the country.

XXXII. SONG OF THE GREEK BARD.

"THE Greek states have long since disappeared from the face of the earth-the Republics, as well as the Macedonian kingdoms founded by Alexander, have long since ceased to exist. Many centuriesnear 2,000 years-have elapsed since a vestige remained of that ancient greatness and transitory power. If the celebrated battles and other mighty events of those ages are still known to us-if they still excite in us a lively interest, it is principally because they have been delineated with such incomparable beauty, such instructive interest, by the great classical writers. It is not the republican governments of Greece, nor the brief and fleeting period of Grecian liberty, which was so soon succeeded by civil war and anarchy--it is not the universal empire of Macedon, which was but of short duration, and was soon wallowed up in the Roman or Parthian domination-it is not these

that mark out the place which Greece occupies in the great whole of universal history, nor the mighty and important part she has had in the civilization of mankind. The share allotted to her was the light of science in its most ample extent, and in all the clear brilliance of exposition which it could derive from art. It is in this intellectual sphere only that Greeks have been gifted with extraordinary power, and have exerted a mighty influence on after ages. Plato and Aristotle, far more than Leonidas and Alexander the Great, contain nearly the sum and essence of all [the?] truly permanent and influential which the Greeks have bequeathed to posterity."-Schlegel's Philosophy of History.

THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning' Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,-
Where Delos rose and Phoebus
sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

The Scian and the Teian muse,

The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest."

The mountains look on Marathon-
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And, musing there an hour alone,

3

I dreamed that Greece might still he free,
For, standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

A king sat on the rocky brow

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,

And men in nations-all were his!
He counted them at break of day-
And when the sun set-where were they

SONG OF THE GREEK BARD.

And where are they? and where art thou,
My country?-On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now-

The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
"Tis something in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush ?-Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead;
Of the Three Hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla!

What, silent still! and silent all!
Ah! no-the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer,
"Let one living head,
But one arise-we come, we come!"
"Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain-in vain: strike other chords:
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call-
How answers each bold bacchanal !
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx3 gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave®—
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these

It made Anacreon's song divine:

He served—but served Polycrates—

A tyrant; but our masters then

Were still, at least, our countrymen.

59