Are stretched in our aid-be the combat our own! Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious. A breath of submission we breathe not; 1 The sword that we've drawn we will sheathe not! If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves; This day shall ye blush for its story, Or brighten your lives with its glory? Our women, Oh, 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 that would slacken [worth Till we've trampled the turban and shown ourselves 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; [arms, Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens, Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens. THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS ON HER BIRTHDAY. Ir any white winged Power above The day when thou wert born, my love- I laughed (till taught by thee) when told That ripened life's dull ore to gold, My mind had lovely shapes portrayed; I gazed and felt upon my lips Th' unfinished accents hang: And though as swift as lightning's flash Not all the waves of time shall wash Their memory from my view. But duly shall my raptured song, Rights that cost your sires their blood By the foes ye've fought uncounted, Yet, remember, England gathers What are monuments of bravery, Pageants!-Let the world revere us Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Martyrs in heroic story, Worth a hundred Agincourts! We're the sons of sires that baffled ADELGITHA. THE ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded, And sad pale Adelgrtha came, When forth a valiant champion bounded, She wept, delivered from her danger; "For he is in a foreign far land Whose arm should now have set me free: And I must wear the willow garland Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!" She fell into his arms and fainted; SONG. DRINK ye to her that each loves best, That's told but to her mutual breast, Enough, while memory tranced and glad Paints silently the fair, That each should dream of joys he's had, Yet far, far hence be jest or boast SONG. WHEN Napoleon was flying To his brother bade adieu! "And take," he said, "this token To the maid that owns my faith, Sore mourned the brother's heart, But the maiden of his bosom Wept when all their tears were dried. SONG. Он how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind; |