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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 Suli'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.

Place me on Sunium's § marble 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!

tiades exercised a sovereign power over it, as the heir and successor of his uncle, of the same name, who had led an Athenian colony into the country, and taken possession of it.

* Suli is a mountainous district of Southern Albania. Parga is a town on the coast of Albania. The people of Suli and of Parga have shown great bravery in modern times.

†The Heracleida were a powerful Achaian race, or family, fabled to have been descendants of Hercules.

Latin is here a general name, applied to the people of Western Europe. Sunium was a promontory in Attica, now called Cape Colonni.

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[These stirring lines were written while the struggle between the Greeks and Turks was going on, which ended in the establishment of Greece as an independent kingdom.]

AGAIN to the battle, Achaians!

Our hearts bid the tyrant defiance;

Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree

It hath been, and shall yet be, the land of the free:
For the cross of our faith is replanted,

The pale, dying crescent is daunted,

And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves. Their spirits are hovering o'er us,

And the sword shall to glory restore us.

Ah! what though no succor advances,

Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances

Are stretched in our aid, be the combat our own!
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone!
For we've sworn by our country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That, living, we shall be victorious;

Or that, dying, our death shall be glorious.

A breath of submission we breathe not;

The sword we have drawn we will sheathe not:
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide. waves ingulf-fire consume us,
But they shall not to slavery doom us.

If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves;
But we've smote them already with fire on the waves,

And new triumphs on land are before us:

To the charge! Heaven's banner is o'er us.

This day shall ye blush for its story,

Or brighten your lives with its glory.

Our women, O, say, shall they shriek in despair,

Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair? Accursed may his memory blacken,

If a coward there be who would slacken,

Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth. Strike home, and the world shall revere us

As heroes descended from heroes.

Old Greece lightens up with emotion

Her inlands, her isles of the ocean;

Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring,
And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring;
Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness,

That were cold and extinguished in sadness;

Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms,

When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens.

CLX.-ETERNITY OF GOD.

GREENWOOD.

WE receive such repeated intimations of decay n the world through which we are passing, decline, and change, and loss, follow decline, and change, and loss, in such rapid succession, - that we can almost catch the sound of universal wasting, and hear the work of desolation going on busily around us.

"The mountain falling cometh to nought, and

the rock is removed out of his place. The waters wear the stones, the things which grow out of the dust of the earth are washed away, and the hope of man is destroyed."

Conscious of our own instability, we look about for something to rest on; but we look in vain. The heavens and the earth had a beginning, and they will have an end. The face of the world is changing, daily and hourly. All animated things grow old and die. The rocks crumble, the trees fall, the leaves fade, and the grass withers. The clouds are flying, and the waters are flowing, away from us.

The firmest works of man, too, are gradually giving way. The ivy clings to the mouldering tower, the brier hangs out from the shattered window, and the wall flower springs from the disjointed stones. The founders of these perishable works have shared the same fate long ago. If we look back to the days of our ancestors, to the men as well as the dwellings of former times, they become immediately associated in our imaginations, and only make the feeling of instability stronger and deeper than before.

In the spacious domes which once held our fathers, the serpent hisses and the wild bird screams. The halls which once were crowded with all that taste, and science, and labor could procure, which resounded with melody and were lighted up with beauty, are buried by their own ruins, mocked by their own desolation. The voice of merriment and of wailing, the steps of the busy and the idle, have ceased in the deserted courts, and the weeds choke the entrances, and the long grass waves upon the hearthstone. The works of art, the forming hand, the tombs, the very ashes they contained, are all gone.

While we thus walk among the ruins of the past, a sad feeling of insecurity comes over us; and that feeling is by no means diminished when we arrive at home. If we turn to our friends, we can hardly speak to them before they bid us farewell. We see them for a few moments, and in a few moments more their countenances are changed, and they

are sent away. It matters not how near and dear they are. The ties which bind us together are never too close to be parted, or too strong to be broken. Tears were never known to move the king of terrors, neither is it enough that we are compelled to surrender one, or two, or many, of those we love; for though the price is so great, we buy no favor with it, and our hold on those who remain is as slight The shadows all elude our grasp, and follow one

as ever.

another down the valley.

We gain no confidence, then, no feeling of security, by turning to our contemporaries and kindred. We know that the forms which are breathing around us are as shortlived and fleeting as those were which have been dust for centuries. The sensation of vanity, uncertainty, and ruin is equally strong, whether we muse on what has long been prostrate, or gaze on what is falling now, or will fall so

soon.

under our notice has en

If every thing which comes dured for so short a time, and in so short a time will be no more, we cannot say that we receive the least assurance by thinking on ourselves. When they, on whose fate we have been meditating, were engaged in the active scenes of life, as full of health and hope as we are now, what were ? We had no knowledge, no consciousness, no being; there was not a single thing in the wide universe which knew us. And after the same interval shall have elapsed, which now divides their days from ours, what shall we be? What they are now.

we

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When a few more friends have left, a few more hopes deceived, and a few more changes mocked us, we shall be brought to the grave, and shall remain in the tomb: the clods of the valley shall be sweet unto us, and every man shall follow us, as there are innumerable before us." All power will have forsaken the strongest, and the loftiest will be laid low, and every eye will be closed, and every voice hushed, and every heart will have ceased its beating. And

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