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The armaments which thunder-strike the walls
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: - not so thou! Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Thou glorious mirror, where th' Almighty's form
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear,
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
d:-bed, dead, did, made, grazed, hedged, judged, saved, writhed, charmed, paved, heard, ebbed, rigged, would, could, should, damaged, modest, deadly.
Marco Bozzaris.* F. G. HALLECK.
Ar midnight, in his guarded tent,
In dreams, through camp and court he bore
In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
At midnight in the forest-shades,
* Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece. He fell in
a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, 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."
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
And now there breathed that haunted air,
An hour passed on the Turk awoke
He woke to hear his sentries 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;
They fought like brave men-long and well;
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Come to the bridal chamber, Death!
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
But to the hero, when his sword
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Of sky and stars to prisoned men!
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Bozzaris! with the storied brave,
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb.
But she remembers thee as one
The memory of her buried joys,
Talk of thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's; One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.