Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control!
No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose:
Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole,

And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes!
It leaps from mount to mount; from vale to vale
It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers;
It visits home, to hear the fire-side tale,

Or, in sweet converse, pass the joyous hours.

'Tis up before the sun, roaming afar,

And, in its watches, wearies every star!

Marco Bozzaris.-F. G. HALLECK.

[He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platæa, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."]

Ar midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power;

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring,-

Then pressed that monarch's throne,-a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.

An hour passed on-the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentry's shriek,

"To arms! they come: the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke to die midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band;-

"Strike-till the last armed foe expires,
Strike-for your altars and your fires,
Strike-for the green graves of your sires,
God-and your native land!"