Brought garlands there: so rest the brave, A voice from Scio's isle, A voice as deep hath risen again Let not its tones expire ! Such power to waken earth and heaven, Know ye not whence it comes? 'Tis with us through the night! Hear it, ye heavens! when swords flash high, IV. THE SPARTANS' MARCH.1 "The Spartans used not the trumpet in their march into battle," says Thucydides, "because they wished not to excite the rage of their warriors. Their charging-step was made to the 'Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders.' The valour of a Spartan was too highly tempered to require a stunning or a rousing impulse. His spirit was like a steed too proud for the spur."-ČAMPBELL on the Elegiac Poetry of the Greeks. 'Twas morn upon the Grecian hills, Where peasants dressed the vines; And brightly, through his reeds and flowers, When a sound arose from Sparta's towers Of solemn harmony. Was it the hunters' choral strain To the woodland-goddess poured? Did virgin hands in Pallas' fane But helms were glancing on the stream, And shields flung back a glorious beam 'Originally published in the Edinburgh Magazine. And the mountain-echoes of the land They marched not with the trumpet's blast, And the laurel groves, as on they passed, They asked no clarion's voice to fire And still sweet flutes, their path around, So moved they calmly to their field, Save bearing back the Spartan shield, V. THE URN AND SWORD. THEY sought for treasures in the tomb, They scattered far the greensward heap, Where once those hands the bright wine poured; A mouldering urn, a shivered sword! An urn, which held the dust of one Who died when hearths and shrines were free; And these are treasures !-undismayed, 1 See Potter's Grecian Antiquities, ii. 234. VI. THE MYRTLE BOUGH, The graves, wherein our mighty men Still green it waves! as when the hearth And fearless was the banquet's mirth, And guests, with shining myrtle crowned, Still green, as when on holy ground Though earth may shroud Harmodius now, ["In the Elysium of the ancients, we find none but heroes and persons who had either been fortunate or distinguished on earth; the children, and apparently the slaves and lower classes, that is to say, Poverty, Misfortune, and Innocence, were banished to the Infernal Regions."-CHATEAUBRIAND, Génie du Christianisme.] FAIR wert thou in the dreams Of elder time, thou land of glorious flowers Where, as they passed, bright hours Fair wert thou, with the light On thy blue hills and sleepy waters cast, Along the mountains !-but thy golden day And ever, through thy shades, And young leaves trembling to the wind's light breath, Which ne'er had rouched them with a hue of death! And the transparent sky Rung as a dome, all thrilling to the strain Of harps that, 'midst the woods, made harmony And dim remembrances, that still draw birth And who, with silent tread, Moved o'er the plains of waving asphodel? Who, 'midst the shadowy amaranth-bowers might dwell, Of those majestic hymn-notes, and inhale They of the sword, whose praise, With the bright wine at nations' feasts, went round! Forth on the winds had sent their mighty sound, And in all regions found Their echoes 'midst the mountains !-and become They of the daring thought! Daring and powerful, yet to dust allied Whose flight through stars, and seas, and depths, had sought The soul's far birthplace—but without a guide ! Sages and seers, who died, And left the world their high mysterious dreams, But the most loved are they Of whom fame speaks not with her clarion voice, Around their steps; till silently they die, And these-of whose abode, 'Midst her green valleys, earth retained no trace, A dim and vacant place In some sweet home ;-thou hadst no wreaths for these, The peasant at his door Might sink to die when vintage feasts were spread, Thou wert for nobler dead! He heard the bounding steps which round him fell, The slave, whose very tears Were a forbidden luxury, and whose breast Kept the mute woes and burning thoughts of years, He might not be thy guest! |