Yet laugh not in your carnival of crime
Too proudly, ye oppressors!-Spain was free,
Her soil has felt the foot-prints, and her crime
Been winnow'd by the wings of Liberty;
And these even parting scatter as they flee
Thoughts-influences, to live in hearts unborn,
Opinions that shall wrench the prison-key
From Persecution-show her mask off-torn,
And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn!
Glory to them that die in this great cause!
Kings, Bigots, can inflict no brand of shame,
Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause:
No!-manglers of the martyr's earthly frame!
Your hangmen fingers cannot touch his fame.
Still in your prostrate land there shall be some
Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame.
Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb,
But vengeance is behind, and justice is to come.
INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BY
Which has been erected by the widow of Admiral Sir G.
Campbell, K. C. B. to the memory of her husband,
To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart
Fulfilled the hero's and the patriot's part,-
Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoin'd,
Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined,→
This stone is reared to public duty true,
The seaman's friend, the father of his crew-
Mild in reproof, sagacious in command,
He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band,
And led each arm to act, each heart to feel,
What British valour owes to Britain's weal.
These were his public virtues :--but to trace
His private life's fair purity and grace,
To paint the traits that drew affection strong
From friends, an ample and an ardent throng,
And, more, to speak his memory's grateful claim
On her who mourns him most, and bears his name-
O'ercomes the trembling hand of widowed grief,
O'ercomes the heart, unconscious of relief,
Save in religion's high and holy trust,
Whilst placing their memorial o'er his dust.
AGAIN to the battle, Achaians!
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance
Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree-
It has 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 succour advances,
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances
Are stretched in our aid-be the combat our ow
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 deaths shall be glorious.
A breath of submission we breathe not;
The sword that we've 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 engulf-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, 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
Till we've trampled the turban and shown ourselves 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
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
My joys and griefs survey,
The day when thou wert born, my love—
He surely blessed that day.
I laughed (till taught by thee) when told
Of beauty's magic powers,
That ripened life's dull ore to gold,
And changed its weeds to flowers.
My mind had lovely shapes portrayed;
But thought I earth had one
Could make e'en Fancy's visions fade
Like stars before the sun?
I gazed and felt upon my lips
Th' unfinished accents hang:
One moment's bliss, one burning kiss,
To rapture changed each pang.
And though as swift as lightning's flash
Those tranced moments flew,
Not all the waves of time shall wash
Their memory from my view.
But duly shall my raptured song,
And gladly shall my eyes,
Still bless this day's return, as long
As thou shalt see it rise.
MEN of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood.
Men whose undegenerate spirit
Has been proved on land and flood:-
By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquered-kingdoms won!
Yet, remember, England gathers
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the patriotism of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,
Where no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,
Trophied temples, arch and tomb?
Pageants-Let the world revere us
For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes
Bared in Freedom's holy cause.
Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sydney's matchless shade is yours,—
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