He woke to hear his sentries shriek, "To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek." "Strike-till the last arm'd foe expires; They fought,-like brave men, long and well; Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw Then saw in death his eyelids close Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! That close the pestilence are broke, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; The thanks of millions yet to be. To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prison'd men: To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, BOZZARIS! with the storied brave, Greece nurtured in ner glory's time, She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, The heartless luxury of the tomb: But she remembers thee as one Talk of thy doom without a sigh: TO A ROSE, BROUGHT FROM BURNS. NEAR ALLOWAY KIRK, IN AYRSHIRE, IN THE Wild Rose of Alloway! my thanks: Thou 'mindst me of that autumn noon Like thine, beneath the thorn-tree's bough, Art wither'd-flower and leaf. And will not thy death-doom be mine The doom of all things wrought of clay And wither'd my life's leaf like thine, Not so his memory, for whose sake There have been loftier themes than his, Purer and holier fires: Yet read the names that know not death; His is that language of the heart In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek; And his that music, to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time, In cot or castle's mirth or moan, In cold or sunny clime. And who hath heard his song, nor knelt O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm, O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, O'er Reason's dark, cold hours; On fields where brave men "die or do," What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, Pure hopes, that lift the soul above, Come with his Cotter's hymn of praise, And when he breathes his master-lay All passions in our frames of clay Imagination's world of air, And our own world, its gloom and glee, Wit, pathos, poetry, are there, And death's sublimity. And Burns-though brief the race he ran, Through care, and pain, and want, and woe, He kept his honesty and truth, His independent tongue and pen, And moved, in manhood as in youth, Pride of his fellow-men. Praise to the bard! his words are driven, Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, Praise to the man! a nation stood Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines, Sages, with Wisdom's garland wreathed, And lowlier names, whose humble home Is lit by Fortune's dimmer star, Are there-o'er wave and mountain come, Pilgrims, whose wandering feet have press'd The Switzer's snow, the Arab's sand, Or trod the piled leaves of the West, My own green forest-land. All ask the cottage of his birth, Gaze on the scenes he loved and sung, And gather feelings not of earth His fields and streams among. They linger by the Doon's low trees, But what to them the sculptor's art, His funeral columns, wreaths, and urns! Wear they not graven on the heart The world is bright before thee; There is a song of sorrow, And youth's warm promise o'er. Believe it not; though lonely JAMES GATES PERCIVAL, 1795-1856. THIS eminent scholar and classic poet was born at Berlin, Connecticut, September 15, 1795, and graduated at Yale College in 1815, with high honor. After leaving college, he entered the medical school connected with the same, and received the degree of M.D. He did not, however, engage in practice, but devoted himself chiefly to the cultivation of his poetical powers and to the pursuits of science and literature. He first appeared before the public as an author in 1821, when he published a volume containing some minor poems, and the first part of his Prometheus, which was very favorably noticed in the "North American Review." In 1822, he published two volumes of miscellaneous poems and prose writings, and the second part of Prometheus, a poem in the Spenserian measure. In 1824, he was for a short time in the service of the United States, as Professor of Chemistry in the Military Academy at West Point, and subsequently as a surgeon connected with the recruiting-station at Boston. But his tastes lay in a different direction, and he gave himself to the Muses, and to historical, philological, and scientific pursuits. In 1827, he was employed to revise the manuscript |