He chose a mournful muse. He sung Darius great and good! Fallen fallen! fallen! fallen! The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smiled, to see Fighting still, and still destroying. Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause : So Love was crowned; but Music won the cause.The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, Now strike the golden lyre again! A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder! Has raised up his head, As awaked from the dead; See the Furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, To the valiant crew! Behold! how they toss their torches on high, And glittering temples of their hostile gods !— The princes applaud with a furious joy; And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey! And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. Could swell the soul to rage-or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame. The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, With nature's mother-wit and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: X.-MARCO BOZZARIS. (FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.) Marco Bozzaris was the great hero of modern Greece in her struggle for independence. He was killed in 1823, while heading an assault by night on the Turkish camp at Laspi, where stood the ancient Platæa, famed for a victory (479 B.C.) of the Greeks over Mardonius, the Persian commander. The dying expression of Bozzaris was, "To die for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain." Mr. Halleck is an American poet of some note. He was born in Connecticut in 1795. AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour In dreams, through camp and court he bore In dreams his song of triumph heard; As Eden's garden bird. An hour passed on-the Turk awoke "TO ARMS! they come!-the GREEK! the GREEK!" And death-shots falling thick and fast Strike, till the last armed foe expires! STRIKE, for your altars and your fires! STRIKE, for the green graves of your sires! GOD, and your native land!" They fought like brave men, long and well, His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud hurrah They saw in death his eyelids close Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! That close the pestilence are broke, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, The thanks of millions yet to be. We tell thy doom without a sigh; XI.—THE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION. (MRS. HEMANS.) Felicia Dorothea Browne, Mrs. Hemans, was born in Liverpool in 1793, and died in Dublin in 1835. She is best known by her minor pieces, which have always been highly popular; but some of her more ambitious efforts, such as the "Forest Sanctuary," and "Vespers of Palermo," are no less deserving of favour. Don Roderigo Dias de Bivar, called the Cid,—that is, Lord or Noble,—was a famous Spanish hero. The city of Valencia being besieged by the Moors while he lay on his death-bed, he gave orders that when a sally was made his dead body should be carried out to battle. THE Moor had beleaguered Valencia's towers, There were men from wilds where the death-wind sweeps, The midnight bell o'er the dim seas heard, They reared the Cid on his barbed1 steed, 1 Covered with armour. |