STANZAS ON THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO. HEARTS of oak that have bravely deliver'd the brave, [grave, And uplifted old Greece from the brink of the 'Twas the helpless to help, and the hopeless to save, That your thunderbolts swept o'er the brine: And as long as yon sun shall look down on the wave, The light of your glory shall shine. For the guerdon ye sought with your bloodshed and toil, Was it slaves, or dominion, or rapine, or spoil? No! your lofty emprise was to fetter and foil The uprooter of Greece's domain ! When he tore the last remnant of food from her soil, Till her famish'd sank pale as the slain! Yet, Navarin's heroes! does Christendom breed The base hearts that will question the fame of your deed? Are they men ?-let ineffable scorn be their meed, And oblivion shadow their graves !— Are they women?-to Turkish serails let them speed; And be mothers of Mussulman slaves. Abettors of massacre ! dare ye deplore That the death-shriek is silenced on Hellas's shore? That the mother aghast sees her offspring no more By the hand of Infanticide grasp❜d! And that stretch'd on yon billows distain'd by their gore Missolonghi's assassins have gasp'd? Prouder scene never hallow'd war's pomp to the mind, Than when Christendom's pennons wooed social [bined, the wind, And the flower of her brave for the combat comTheir watch-word, humanity's vow: [kind Not a sea-boy that fought in that cause, but manOwes a garland to honour his brow! Nor grudge, by our side, that to conquer or fall For whose was the genius, that plann'd at its call, That star of thy day-spring, regenerate Greek! Dimm'd the Saracen's moon, and struck pallid his cheek: In its fast flushing morning thy Muses shall speak When their lore and their lutes they reclaim : And the first of their songs from Parnassus's peak Shall be "Glory to Codrington's name!" LINES ON REVISITING A SCOTTISH RIVER. 1828. AND call they this Improvement!-to have changed, My native Clyde, thy once romantic shore, Lie sere and leafless now in summer's beam, And for the daisied green-sward, down thy stream gleam. Speak not to me of swarms the scene sustains; See, left but life enough and breathing-room Is this Improvement?-where the human breed Improvement smiles it in the poor man's eyes, Nor call that evil slight; God has not given From fœtid skies; the spirit's healthy pride Fades in their gloom-And therefore I complain, That thou no more through pastoral scenes shouldst glide, My Wallace's own stream, and once romantic Clyde ! THE "NAME UNKNOWN." I IN IMITATION OF KLOPSTOCK. 1827. PROPHETIC pencil! wilt thou trace A faithful image of the face, Or wilt thou write the "Name Unknown," Ordain'd to bless my charmed soul, And all my future fate control, Delicious Idol of my thought! Though sylph or spirit hath not taught Yet musing on my distant fate, To charms unseen I consecrate [1 These lines were written in Germany.] |