All up the mountain's side, Waved the Persian banners pale. And foremost from the pass, Like the lightning's living brand. Then double darkness fell, And the forest ceased its moan: But there came a clash of steel, And a distant dying groan. Anon, a trumpet blew, And a fiery sheet burst high, That o'er the midnight threw A blood-red canopy. A host glared on the hill; A host glared by the bay; But the Greeks rush'd onwards still, Like leopards in their play. The air was all a yell, And the earth was all a flame, And still the Greek rush'd on Shone Xerxes' tent of gold. They found a royal feast, His midnight banquet, there; And the treasures of the East Lay beneath the Doric spear. Then sat to the repast The bravest of the brave! That feast must be their last, That spot must be their grave. They pledged old Sparta's name They took the rose-wreath'd lyres But now the morning star Crown'd Eta's twilight brow; And the Persian horn of war From the hills began to blow. Up rose the glorious rank, To Greece one cup pour'd high,Then hand in hand, they drank "To Immortality!" Fear on King Xerxes fell, When, like spirits from the tomb, With shout and trumpet-knell, He saw the warriors come. But down swept all his power, They gather'd round the tent, To Greece one look they sent, Their King sat on the throne, While the flame rush'd roaring on, Thus fought the Greek of old! Bring forth the self-same men? THE STARS. Ye stars! bright legions that, before all time, What wonder if the o'erwrought soul should reel For ye behold the Mightiest. Lighting their lonely track with Hope's celestial dyes. On Calvary shot down that purple eye, Your incense to the Throne!-The Heavens shall burn: For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust return. Yet look ye living intellects.-The trine The sign when empire's hour-glass downwards ran, "Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen talisman. From Paris in 1815, Part II. EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI. The Guillotine.-It stood in that pale day A wain, that thro' the throng slow toil'd its weary way. "Tis done, the monarch on the scaffold stands; The headsmen grasp him!-Of the myriads there, That hear his voice, that see his fetter'd hands, Not one has given a blessing or a tear; But that old priest who answers him in prayer. He speaks: his dying thoughts to France are given, His voice is drown'd; for murder has no ear. The saint unmurmuring to the axe is driven. If ever spirit rose, that heart is calm in Heaven. THINGS TO COME. There are murmurs on the deep, Though no cloud the sign has given; Tribes are in their forests now, War of old has swept the world, Man hath shed Man's blood for toys, Earth in cureless crime grows old; Past destruction shall be tame To the rushing of that flame. When the clouds of Vengeance break, Folly shall be on the wise, Frenzy shall be on the weak, Nation against nation rise, And the worse than Pagan sword Then the Martyr's solemn cry,' That a thousand years has rung, Where their robes of crimson lie Round the Golden Altar' flung, Shall be heard,-and from the 'throne' The trumpet of the Judgment' blown. "Woe to Earth, the mighty, woe!" Yet shall Earth her conscience lull, Till above the brim shall flow The draught of gall.—The cup is full. |