On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dy'd waters murm'ring far below;
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook, red meteors flash'd along the sky,
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry!
6. Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword Omnipotent to save?
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God,-
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar?
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast?
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heav'd an ocean on their march below!'
7. Departed spirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return,
The Patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn!
8. Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free'
A little while, along thy sadd'ning plains,
The starless night of desolation reigns;
Truth shall restore the light by Nature giv'n,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n!
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd,—
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!
The Greek and the Turkman.
1. THE Turkman lay beside the river; The wind played loose through bow and quiver; The charger on the bank fed free;
The shield hung glittering from the tree :
The trumpet, shawm, and attabal,
Were hid from dew by cloak and pall;
For long and weary was the way
The hordes had march'd that burning day.
2. Above them, on the sky of June,
Broad as a buckler, glow'd the moon,
Flooding with glory vale and hill;
In silver sprang the mountain rill,
The weeping shrub in silver bent;
A pile of silver stood the tent:
Ail soundless, sweet tranquillity,
All beauty, hill, and tent, and tree.
3. There came a sound-'twas like the gush When night winds shake the rose's bush; There came a sound-'twas like the flow Of rivers swell'd with melting snow; There came a sound-'twas like the tread Of wolves along the valley's bed; There came a sound-'twas like the roar Of ocean on its winter shore.
4. "Death to the Turk!" uprose the yell; On rolled the charge-a thunder peal: The Tartan arrows fell like rain,
They clank'd on helm, on mail, on chain;
In blood, in hate, in death, were twin'd
Savage and Greck, mad, bleeding, blind:
And still on flank, on front, and rear,
Rag'd, Constantine, thy thirstiest spear!
5. Brassy and pale, a type of doom,
Labor'd the moon, through deep'ning gloom;
Down plung'd her orb-'twas pitchy night :-
Now Turkman, turn thy reins for flight!
On rush'd their thousands through the dark;
But in their camp a ruddy spark,
Like an uncertain meteor, reel'd:
Thy hand, brave king, that firebrand wheel'd!
6. Wild burst the burning element
O'er man and courser, flag and tent;
And through the blaze the Greeks outsprang,
Like tigers, bloody, foot and fang,
With dagger's stab and falchion's sweep,
Delving the stunn'd and staggering heap,
Till lay the slave by chief and Khan,
And all was gore that once was man.
7. There's wailing on the Euxin shoreHer chivalry shall ride no more.
There's wailing on thy hills, Altai,
For chiefs-the Grecian vultures' prey!
But Bosphorus, thy silver wave
Hears shcuts for the returning brave-
The bravest of her kingly line,
For there comes glorious Constantine.
Morning Meditations.
1. IN sleep's serene oblivion laid,
I've safely pass'd the silent night;
Again I see the breaking shade,
Again behold the morning light.
2 New born I bless the waking hour;
Once more, with awe, rejoice to be;
My conscious soul resumes her power,
And soars, my guardian God, to thee.
3. O guide me through the various maze
My doubtful feet are doom'd to tread ;
And spread thy shield's protecting blaze,
Where dangers press around my head.
4. A deeper shade shall soon impend—
A deeper sleep my eyes oppress:
Yet then thy strength shall still defend;
Thy goodness still delight to bless.
5. That deeper shade shall break away;
That deeper sleep shall leave mine eyes;
Thy light shall give eternal day;
Thy love, the rapture of the skies.
SECTION VII.
Hymn to the Stars.
1. Ay, there ye shine, and there have shone, In one eternal 'hour of prime,'
Each rolling burningly, alone,
Through boundless space and countless time,
Ay, there ye shine--the golden dews
That lave the realms by seraphs trod,
There, through yon echoing vault, diffuse.
The song of choral worlds to God.
2. Ye visible spirits! bright as erst
Young Eden's birthnight saw ye shine,
On all her flowers and fountains first,
Yet sparkling from the hand divine;
Yes, bright as then ye smil'd, to catch
The music of a sphere so fair,
Ye hold your high immortal watch,
And gird your God's pavilion there.
3. Gold frets to dust,-yet there ye are ;
Time rots the diamond,-there ye roll
In primal light, as if each star
Enshrined an everlasting soul!
And does it not-since your bright throngs
One all-enlight'ning Spirit own,
Prais'd there by pure, sidereal tongues,
Eternal, glorious, blest, alone?
4. Could man but see what ye have seen
Unfold awhile the shrouded past,
From all that is, to what has been,
The glance how rich! the range how vast! The birth of time, the rise, the fall
Of empires, myriads, ages flown, Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships,—all The things whose echoes are not gone.
5. Ye saw rapt Zoroaster send
His soul into your mystic reign;
Ye saw th' adoring Sabian bend-
The living hills his mighty fane!-
Beneath his blue and beaming sky,
He worshipp'd at your lofty shrine,
And deem'd he saw, with gifted eye,
The Godhead in his works divine.
6. And there ye shine, as if to mock
The children of a mortal sire.
The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock
The red volcano's cataract fire,
Drought, famine, plague, and blood, and flame
All nature's ills-and life's worse woes —
Are nought to you ;-ye smile the same,
And scorn alike their dawn and close.
7. Ay, there ye roll-emblems sublime
Of him whose spirit o'er us moves,
Beyond the clouds of grief and crime,
Still shining on the world he loves:-
Nor is one scene to mortals given,
That more divides the soul and sod,
Than yon proud heraldry of heaven-
Yon burning blazonry of God.
Address to the Mummy, in Belzoni's Exhibition, London. 1. AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story!) In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
2. Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy,
Thou hast a tongue-come, let us hear its tune;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon ;
Not like thin ghosts, and disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.
3. Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect-
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either Pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
4. Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade;
Then say what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd?
Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles
Are vain ;—Egyptian priests ne'er owned their juggles.
5. Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a half-penny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Teinple's dedication.
6. Since first thy form was in this box extended,
We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations;
The Roman empire has begun and ended;
New worlds have risen--we have lost old nations; and countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
7. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
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