CROLY. He perish'd-but his wreath was won— He perish'd on his height of fame! Then sank the cloud on Athens' sun; Yet still she conquer'd in his name. Fill'd with his soul, she could not dieHer conquest was posterity! LINES WRITTEN AT SPITHEAD. HARK to the knell ! It comes in the swell Of the stormy ocean wave; 'Tis no earthly sound, But a toll profound From the mariner's deep sea grave. When the billows dash, And the signals flash, And the thunder is on the gale; And the ocean is white In its own wild light, Deadly, and dismal, and pale. When the lightning's blaze Smites the seaman's gaze, And the sea rolls in fire and in foam; And the surges' roar Shakes the rocky shore, We hear the sea-knell come. There 'neath the billow, The sand their pillow, Ten thousand men lie low; And still their dirge Is sung by the surge, When the stormy night-winds blow. Sleep, warriors! sleep On your pillow deep In peace! for no mortal care, No art can deceive,— No anguish can heave LEONIDAS. SHOUT for the mighty men Who died along this shore, Who died within this mountain glen! Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day Shout for the mighty men, Who on the Persian tents, Like lions from their midnight den, Let loose from an immortal hand, But there are none to hear; Greece is a hopeless slave. LEONIDAS! no hand is near To lift thy fiery falchion now: The voice that should be raised by men, And it is given! the surge The tree-the rock-the sand- Still gleams within the glorious dell, And is thy grandeur done? Mother of men like these! Has not thy outcry gone Where Justice has an ear to hear? Are plunged the chain and scimitar, All up the mountain side, All down the woody vale, All by the rolling tide Waved the Persian banners pale. And King Leonidas. Among the slumbering band, Sprang foremost from the pass, Like the lightning's living brand. Then double darkness fell, And the forest ceased its moan; But there came a clash of steel, Anon, a trumpet blew, A host glared on the hill,— The air was all a yell, And the earth was all a flame, Where the Spartan's bloody steel On the silken turbans came. And still the Greek rush'd on Shone Xerxes' tent of gold. They found a royal feast, His midnight banquet, there! And the treasures of the east Lay beneath the Doric spear. Then sat to the repast The bravest of the brave! They pledged old Sparta's name They took the rose-wreath'd lyres And taught the languid wires But now the morning star CROLY. Up rose the glorious rank, To Greece one cup pour'd high,Then, hand in hand, they drank "To Immortality!" Fear on King Xerxes fell, When, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and trumpet-knell, He saw the warriors come. But down swept all his power, They march'd within the tent, To heaven the blaze uproll'd, And the Persians' gems and gold Their king sat on the throne, While the flame rush'd roaring on, Thus fought the Greek of old,- Bring forth the selfsame men? |