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4. Be hush'd my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns,

When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean inat stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore !
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,

May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate; Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain, Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again ; To bear is to conquer our fate.

Campbell

SECTION II.

Apostrophe to Mount Parnassus.
1. O TROU Parnassus! whom I now survey,

Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,

But soaring, snow-clad, through thy native sky,
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty!
What marvel that I thus essay to sing?

The humblest of thy pilgrims, passing by,

Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one Muse shall wave her

wing.
2. Oft have I dreamed of thee !-whose glorious nams

Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore;
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame

That I, in feeblest accents, must adore.

When I recount thy worshippers of yore,
I tremble, and can only bend the knee;

Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
la silent joy, to think at last I look on thee !

3. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been

Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot,
Shall I, unmoved, behold the hallowed scene

Whích others rave of, though they know it not?

Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave,

Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot,

Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
Qt glides, with glassy foot, o'er yon melodious wave.

Byrm

SECTION III.

The Ocean.
1. THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel,
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

2. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depth with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown

3. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,-
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,-
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,

They melt into the yeast of waves, which mar
Alike th’ Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

4. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee,
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts ;-not so thou,

wangeable save to thy wild waves' play :Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow:Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

6. Thou glorious mirror, where th' Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convuls'd-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark heaving, boundless, endless, and sublinae

The image of Eternity-the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; cach zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, drcad, fathomless, alone.

Byron.

SECTION IV.

The Sacking of Prague.
1. On! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd awhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile,
When leagu'd Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whiskerd pandors and her fierce hussars,
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze os morn,
Peal' her loud drum, and tiang'd her trumpet horn ;
Tumultuous horror brooded o’or her van,
Presaging wraih to Poland--and to man!

2. Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid,--
Oh! Heav'n, he cried, my blecding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shiold the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweeps these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yat remains !
By that areal name, we wave the sworil on high,
And swear for her to live !- with her tri die!

3. He said, and on the rampart heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few but undismay'ı;
Firm placid and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ;
Low, murm’ring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death-the watch word and reply ;-
· Then peald the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsi.2 toll'd their last alarm!

4. In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few !
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew;
Oh bloodiest picture in the Book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime,-
Found not a gen'rous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo!
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd speas,
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career ;
Hope, for a season, hade the world farewell;
And freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell !

5. The sin went down, nor ceasd the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air;

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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 giving
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!

Campbell

SECTION V.

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 laid from dew bv cloak and rol.

For long and weary was the way
The hordes had march'd that burning day, is

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:
All 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 sounl-'twas like the flow
Of rivers sweil'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 arrovis fell like rain,
They clank'd on helm, on mail, on chain;
In blood, in hate, in death, were twin'd

Savage and Greek, 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, reeld:
Thy hand, brave king, that firebrand wheeld!

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 hean Till lay the slave by chief and Khan, And all was gore that once was man.

7. There's wailing on the Euxine shore Hor chivalry shall ride no more,

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