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Bethulia's matron shook the nightly sword;)
Though ruth and fear thy woundless soul defy,
And fatal genius fire thy martial eye ;
Yet trust not here o'er yielding realms to roam,
Or cheaply bear a bloodless laurel home.
‘No, by His viewless arm whose righteous
care -
Defends the orphan's tear, the poor man's prayer;
Who, Lord of nature, o'er this changeful ball
Decrees the rise of empires, and the fall :
Wondrous in all his ways, unseen, unknown,
Who treads the wine-press of the world alone:
And robed in darkness, and surrounding fears,
Speeds on their destined road the march of
No :—shall yon eagle, from the snare set free,
Stoop to thy wrist, or cower his wing for thee *
And shall it tame despair, thy strong control,
Or quench a nation’s still reviving soul?—
Go, bid the force of countless bands conspire
To curb the wandering wind, or grasp the fire ;
Cast thy vain fetters on the troublous sea 1–
But Spain, the brave, the virtuous,shall be free.”

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WITH heat o'erlabored and the length of way,
On Ethan's beach the bands of Israel lay.
*T was silence all, the sparkling sands along,
Save where the locust trilled her feeble song,
Or blended soft in drowsy cadence fell
The wave's low whisper or the camel's bell.—
*T was silence all.—The flocks for shelter fly
Where, waving light, the acacia shadows lie,
Or where, from far, the flattering vapors make
The noontide semblance of a misty lake :
While the mute swain, in careless safety spread,
With arms enfolded, and dejected head,
Dreams o'er his wondrous call, his lineage high,
And, late revealed, his children's destiny.
For, not in vain, in thraldom's darkest hour,

Had sped from Amram's sons the word of power,
Nor failed the dreadful wand, whose god-like
Could lure the locust from her airy way,
With reptile war assail their proud abodes,
And mar the giant pomp of Egypt's gods.
O helpless gods, who nought availed to shield
From fiery rain your Zoan's favored field.
O helpless gods, who saw the curdled blood
Taint the pure lotus of your ancient flood,
And fourfold-night the wondering earth enchain,
While Memnon’s orient harp was heard in vain.
Such musings held the tribes, till now the west
With milder influence on their temples pressed;
And that portentous cloud which, all the day,
Hung its dark curtain o'er their weary way,
(A cloud by day, a friendly flame by night,)
Rolled back its misty veil, and kindled into light.
Soft fell the eve. But, ere the day was done,
Tall, waving banners streaked the level sun;
And wide and dark along th’ horizon red,
In sandy surge the rising desert spread.—
“Mark, Israel, mark 1'-On that strange sight
In breathless terror, every eye was bent,
And busy faction's undistinguised hum,

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