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Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
O'er China's garden-fields, and peopled floods ;
borders of Bermuda's isles, Where spring with everlasting verdure smiles; On
pure Madeira’s vine-robed hill of health ; In Java's swamp of pestilence and wealth; Where Babel stood, where wolves and jackalls drink ; Midst weeping willows on Euphrates' brink; On Carmel's crest; by Jordan's reverend stream, Where Canaan's glories vanished like a dream; Where Greece, a spectre haunts her heroes' graves, And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails Her subject mountains and dishonoured vales;
Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea
A SERENE WINTER'S NIGHT.
How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
GREEK FUNERAL CHANT, OR MYRIOLOGUE.
A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the
young, Amidst her tears' the funeral chant a mournful mother sung. * Ianthis ! "dost thou sleep ? --Thou 'sleep'st !--but this is
not the rest, The breathing and the rosy calm, I have pillowed on my
breast! I lulled thee not to this repose, Ianthis ! my sweet son! As in thy glowing childhood's time by twilight I have done! -How is it that I bear to stand and look
thee now? And that I die not, seeing death on thy pale glorious brow?
• I look upon thee, thou that wert of all most fair and brave! I see thee wearing still too much of beauty for the grave! Though mournfully thy smile is fixed, and heavily thine eye Hath shut above the falcon-glance that in it loved to lie; And fast is bound the springing step, that seemed on breezes
borne, When to thy couch I came and said, " Wake, hunter,
wake! 'tis morn!' Yet art thou lovely still, my flower! untouched by slow
decay, -And I, the withered stem, remain—I would that grief
Oh I ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would
be ! I knew too well that length of days was not a gift for thee! I saw it in thy kindling cheek, and in thy bearing high ;A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me thou
must die ! That thou must die, my fearless one ! where swords were
flashing red. -Why doth a mother live to say my first-born and my
dead ? They tell me of thy youthful fame, they talk of victory
-Speak thou, and I will hear ! my child, Ianthis ! my A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the
sweet son !'
young, A fair-haired bride the funeral chant amidst ber weeping
sang. Ianthis ! lookest thou not on me? Can love indeed
be fled ! When was it woe before to gaze upon thy stately head ? I would that I had followed thee,
beloved ! And stood as woman oft hath stood, where faithful hearts
are proved! That I had bound a breast-plate on, and battled at thy side -It would have been a blessed thing together had we died !
* But where was I when thou didst fall beneath the fatal
sword ? Was I beside the sparkling fount, or at the peaceful board ? Or singing some sweet song of old, in the shadow of the
vine, Or praying to the saints for thee, before the holy shrine ? And thou wert lying low the while, the life-drops from thy
heart Fast gushing like a mountain-spring land couldst thou
thus depart? Couldst thou depart, nor on my lips pour out thy fleeting
breath ? -Oh! I was with thee but in joy, that should have been