But that is past-Ambition's car
Hath fall'n 'mid chance-deciding war,
And I, the reckless charioteer,

A hopeless exile, linger here ;-
I, who, amid the battle's tide,
Cover'd with glory, should have died,
And left behind to man and fame
An empty throne, and matchless name!

How shall my fate the world avail ?
What is the moral of my tale ?—
'Tis this, that what I dearest loved,
A mockery, a vision, proved,—

A phantom glow, whose rainbow dyes,
Flashing, did cheat the dazzled eyes,
And, like the false mirage, did play,
To lure and lead the steps astray;
And that, amid my deep distress,
The objects which I valued less
Did grow to treasures, and impart

Sweet balm to soothe a wounded heart.

Oh! wert thou with me-wert thou here,

My only boy! my child so dear!

Before thy filial smile should fly

The miseries of captivity;

And I, 'mid earth's lone desert blind,

Should know there bloom'd one flower behind!

That is a boon denied; dark Death

Must strew his shadows o'er my path,

Before thy face I can behold

Before thy form I can infold

Before thy voice, in accents dear,
Again, like music, fills mine ear!
Men, for my sake, shall gaze on thee;
Thy steps shall not unheeded be;
Mean jealousy new fears shall find
In blossoms of thy opening mind ;
And snares shall in thy path be laid;
But thou shalt pass on, unafraid,
If in thy swelling heart remains
One red drop from thy father's veins !

Adieu, adieu! beloved boy!
My latest care, and only joy,
Thou solace of my deep distress,
Thou pole-star in my wretchedness!
Wide oceans roll and roar between,
Broad lands and mountains intervene ;

But distance cannot dissipate

The tie that links me to thy fate,

Nor quench the love, so warm and wild,
With which a father views his child.-
Adieu, adieu! my dearest son!

For me life's sands must soon be run;
Wild flowers above my bosom wave,
And island winds sigh o'er my grave ;—
Smile on thy mother; and may she
In thy young looks remember me!

THE

GREEK TO HIS SWORD.

(FROM THE ROMAIC.)

Now forth I draw thee, glittering blade,
Thy scabbard thus I cast away;

And we shall pass on undismay'd,

Though foes should thicken, like a shade
Around our path, on battle-day!

Too long in scabbard hast thou lain

Unused, amid Oppression's gloom;

When Thraldom round us wove her chain

When suffering Mercy pled in vain ;

And Hope was none-save in the tomb!

6

Now forth, my sword! oh, better far

To fight, to fall, in Freedom's cause, Than crouch before Oppression's car, And, sickening at the thought of war, With trembling brook a tyrant's laws.

Too long beneath our native skies Hath Tyranny her flag unroll'd; "Forth, forth!" the voice of Nature cries, "And o'er the necks of foemen rise, "As did your patriot sires of old !"

The warrior's hand hath never toil'd
In nobler cause than ours before;
Nor shall our patriots' hopes be foil'd,
For prosperous Fate hath ever smiled

On such as dared themselves restore.

'Tis not in foreign hearts and hands, To plead our cause and fight our fields ; Our hope is in our native brands; 'Tis Duty's iron voice commands,

And cursed be every son that yields !