But helms were glancing on the stream,
Spears ranged in close array,

And shields flung back a glorious beam
To the morn of a fearful day!

And the mountain-echoes of the land Swell'd through the deep-blue sky; While to soft strains moved forth a band Of men that moved to die.

They march'd not with the trumpet's blast, Nor bade the horn peal out,

And the laurel groves, as on they pass'd, Rung with no battle shout!

They ask'd no clarion's voice to fire
Their souls with an impulse high;
But the Dorian reed and the Spartan lyre
For the sons of liberty!

And still sweet flutes, their path around
Sent forth Æolian breath;
They needed not a sterner sound
To marshal them for death!

So moved they calmly to their field,
Thence never to return,

Save bearing back the Spartan shield,
Or on it proudly borne!

V. THE URN AND SWORD.

THEY sought for treasures in the tomb,
Where gentler hands were wont to spread
Fresh boughs and flowers of purple bloom,
And sunny ringlets, for the dead.*

They scatter'd far the greensward heap,

Where once those hands the bright wine pour'd;

-What found they in the home of sleep ?—

A mouldering urn, a shiver'd sword!

An urn, which held the dust of one

Who died when hearths and shrines were free A sword, whose work was proudly done Between our mountains and the sea.

And these are treasures!-undismay'd,
Still for the suffering land we trust,
Wherein the past its fame hath laid,
With freedom's sword, and valour's dust.

VI. THE MYRTLE BOUGH.

STILL green, along our sunny shore,
The flowering myrtle waves,
As when its fragrant boughs of yore
Were offer'd on the graves-

• See Potter's Grecian Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 234.

;

The graves, wherein our mighty men
Had rest, unviolated then.

Still green it waves! as when the hearth
Was sacred through the land;
And fearless was the banquet's mirth,
And free the minstrel's hand;

And guests, with shining myrtle crown'd,
Sent the wreath'd lyre and wine-cup round.

Still green! as when on holy ground
The tyrant's blood was pour'd:
Forget ye not what garlands bound
The young deliverer's sword!
Though earth may shroud Harmodius now,
We still have sword and myrtle bough!

ELYSIU M.

"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
And summer winds and low-toned silvery streams,
Dim with the shadows of thy laurel bowers,
Where, as they pass'd, bright hours
Left no faint sense of parting, such as clings
To earthly love, and joy in loveliest things!

Fair wert thou, with the light

On thy blue hills and sleepy waters cast,
From purple skies ne'er deep'ning into night,
Yet soft, as if each moment were their last

Of glory, fading fast

Along the mountains!-but thy golden day
Was not as those that warn us of decay.

And ever, through thy shades,

A swell of deep Æolian sound went by,
From fountain-voices in their secret glades,
And low reed-whispers, making sweet reply
To summer's breezy sigh,

And young leaves trembling to the wind's light breath, Which ne'er had touch'd 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
Solemn and sweet; yet troubling not the brain
With dreams and yearnings vain,

And dim remembrances, that still draw birth
From the bewild'ring music of the earth.

And who, with silent tread,

Moved o'er the plains of waving asphodel?

Call'd from the dim procession of the dead,

Who, 'midst the shadowy amaranth-bowers might dwell,

And listen to the swell

Of those majestic hymn-notes, and inhale

The spirit wand'ring in the immortal gale?

They of the sword, whose praise,

With the bright wine at nations' feasts, went round! They of the lyre, whose unforgotten lays

Forth on the winds had sent their mighty sound,

And in all regions found

Their echoes 'midst the mountains!—and become

In man's deep heart as voices of his home!