You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,—
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx 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 PolycratesA tyrant; but our masters then

Were still, at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades !

O, that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind!

Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Šuli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there perhaps some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.

Trust not for freedom to the Franks,-
They have a king who buys and sells.
In native swords and native ranks
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force and Latin fraud
Would break your shield, however broad

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade,—
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But, gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,

To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,-
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die,
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine,-
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

Byron.

*99*

THE NEW-YEAR.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

The year

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Tennyson.

Hence, vain deluding joys,

The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bestead

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain,

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the sunbeams Or likest hovering dreams

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.

But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy!

Whose saintly visage is too bright

To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem