TO THE

SPIRIT OF KOSCIUSKO.

UNNOTICED shall the mighty fall!

Unwept and unlamented die!

Shall he whom bonds could not enthrall,

Who plann'd, who fought, who bled for all,

Unconsecrated lie!

Without a song, whose fervid strains

Might kindle fire in patriot veins !

No! thus it ne'er shall be; and Fame
Ordains to thee a brighter lot;

While earth—while hope endures, thy name
Pure, high, unchangeable-the same-

Shall never be forgot;

Tis shrined amid the holy throng; 'Tis woven in immortal song;

Yes!-Campbell of the deathless lay,
The ardent poet of the free,
Has painted Warsaw's latest day,
In colours that resist decay,

In accents worthy thee;

Thy hosts on battle-field array'd,
And in thy grasp the patriot blade!

Oh! sainted is the name of him,

And sacred should his relics be, Whose span no selfish aims bedim, Who, spotless as the seraphim,

To make the earth by freemen trod,

And see mankind the sons of God!

And thou wert one of these ; 'twas thine, Through thy devoted country's night,

The latest of a freeborn line,

With all that purity to shine,

Which makes a hero bright;

In all that lustre to appear,

Which freemen love, and tyrants fear.

A myrtle wreath was on thy blade,

Which broke before its cause was won ;Thou to no sordid fears betray'd,

'Mid desolation undismay'd,

Wert mighty, though undone ;

No terrors gloom'd thy closing scene,
In danger and in death serene!

Though thou hast bade our world farewell,
And left the blotted lands beneath,
In purer, happier realms to dwell;
With Wallace, Washington, and Tell,
Thou shar'st the laurel wreathe-
The Brutus of degenerate climes !
A beacon light to other times!

STANZAS

ON THE

DEATH OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.

THE knell hath toll'd, and the mighty hath gone
To the dust, like a thing forsaken ;
No more shall the dread Napoleon
At the summons of Fame awaken!

Thou did❜st not die on the tented plain,
With thy martial legions round thee;
But a captive, girt with the gnawing chain
In which the nations bound thee!

Thou did'st not fade like a lightning flash,
When thunder-clouds bend lowly ;-
Thou did'st not sink like a torrent's dash;
But silently pined, and slowly.

G

A hundred battles were fought and won ;

Tens of thousands fell beside thee;

And thine eagle soar'd, with its eyes to the sun,
As if all but success was denied thee.

Thy name did sound a watch-word of fear,—
A spell, like the earthquake and thunder;
The nations did crouch, as thy banners drew near,
In the depth of amazement and wonder!

The sceptre fell from the regal hand;

And Liberty saw but one token

In Europe, the seat of her ancient command,
That her sway was resistless, though broken.

'Twas in Britain the stedfast heart did remain,
Through the terrors and tempest of danger,
That the patriot glow'd, while he scoff'd at the chain,
That was forged for his neck by the stranger.

'Twas to Britain the iron-bound captive gazed, When Thraldom's low dungeon he enter❜d;

'Twas in Britain the bulwark of Freedom was raised, And the hopes of the earth were centred.