The air was all a yell, and the earth was all a flame,
Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans came;
And still the Greek rushed on, beneath the fiery fold,
Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold

They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there!
And the treasures of the East lay bencath 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 in cups of Syrian wine,
And the warrior's deathless fame was sung in strains divine.
They took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from slave,
And taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave.
But now the morning star crowned Eta's twilight brow,
And the Persian horn of war from the hill began to blow;
Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured 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, with chariot and with charge;
Down poured the arrowy shower, till sank the Dorian targe.
They marched within the tent, with all their strength unstrung;
To Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches flung;
To Heaven the blaze uprolled, like a mighty altar-fire;
And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' funeral pyre.
Their King sat on his Throne, his Captains by his side,
While the flame rushed roaring on, and their pæan loud replied!
Thus fought the Greek of old! Thus will he fight again!
Shall not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ?

23 CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS. —Original Adaptation from Croly.

MEN of Gaul!

What would you give for Freedom?

For Freedom, if it stood before your eyes;
For Freedom, if it rushed to your embrace;
For Freedom, if its sword were ready drawn
To hew your chains off?

Ye would give death or life!

Then marvel not

That I am here that Catiline would join you!

The great Patrician? - Yes-an hour ago

But now the rebel; Rome's eternal foe,

And your sworn friend! My desperate wrong 's my pledge
There 's not in Rome,
- no- not upon the carth,

A man so wronged. The very ground I tread

Is grudged me. Chieftains! ere the moon be down, My land will be the Senate's spoil; my life,

The mark of the first villain that will stab

For lucre. But there 's a time at hand! — Gaze on!
If I had thought you cowards, I might have come
And told you lies. But you have now the thing

I am; Rome's enemy,

To you and yours forever!

The State is weak as dust.

-and fixed as fate

Rome 's broken, helpless, heart-sick. Vengeance sits
Above her, like a vulture o'er a corpse,

Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay,
Have let the waters round her pillar's foot;

And it must fall. Her boasted strength 's a ghost,
Fearful to dastards; -- yet, to trenchant swords,
Thin as the passing air! A single blow,

In this diseased and crumbling state of Rome,
Would break your chains like stubble.
But "ye 've no swords"!

Have you no ploughshares, scythes?

When men are brave, the sickle is a spear!
Must Freedom pine till the slow armorer
Gilds her caparison, and sends her out
To glitter and play antics in the sun?
Let hearts be what they ought,

- the naked earth.

Will be their magazine; the rocks- the trees
Nay, there's no idle and unnoted thing,
But, in the hand of Valor, will out-thrust

The

spear, and make the mail a mockery!

31. CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY. - Id.
BRAVE Comrades! all is ruined! I disdain
To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown!
And now, let each that wishes for long life
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome.
Ye are all free to go. -What! no man stirs '
Not one! a soldier's spirit in you all?
Give me your hands! (This moisture in my eyes
Is womanish 't will pass.) My noble hearts!
Well have you chosen to die! For, in my mind,
The grave is better than o'erburthened life; -
Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues;
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart,
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse;
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood,
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge

Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms
That he would love to die in,- for, this hour,
We storm the Consul's camp. - A last farewell!
When next we meet, we 'll have no time to look,
How parting clouds a soldier's countenance:
Few as we are, we'll rouse them with a peal
That shall shake Rome!

Now to your cohorts' heads, the word 's-Revenge.

82 THE BARD'S SUMMONS TO WAR. -Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton

LEANING against a broken parapet,

Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard,
When a voice smote him, and he turned and met
A gaze, prophetic in its sad regard.
Beside him, solemn with his hundred years,
Spoke the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers:
"In vain through yon dull stupor of despair
Sound Geraint's trump and Owaine's battle-cry;
In vain where yon rude clamor storms the air,
The Council Chiefs stem maddening mutiny;
From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone,
And on the breach stands Lancelot alone!

66

Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong!
Fast into night the life of Freedom dies;
Awake, Light-Bringer, wake, bright soul of song!
Kindler, reviver, re-creator, rise!

Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath,
And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death!"

"So be it, O voice from Heaven," the Bard replied
"Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name;
Ever for human love my youth hath sighed,

And human love's divinest form is fame.
Is the dream erring? shall the song remain?
Say, can one Poet ever live in vain ?"

Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unstrung
His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad
Kissing the hand that doomed his life, he sprung
Light from the shattered wall, and swiftly strode
Where, herdlike huddled in the central space,
Drooped, in dull pause, the cowering populace.

Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay,—
Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul;

Into the heart it coiled its lulling way,
Wave upon wave the golden river stole ;
Hushed to his feet forgetful Famine crept,
And Woe, reviving, veiled the eyes that wept.
Then stern, and harsh, clashed the ascending strain,
Telling of ills more dismal yet in store;
Rough with the iron of the grinding chain,

Dire with the curse of slavery evermore;
Wild shrieks from lips beloved pale warriors hear,
Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear
Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords;
And men unquiet sought each other's eyes;
Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords!
Like linked legions march the melodies!
Till the full rapture swept the Bard along,
And o'er the listeners rushed the storm of song!

And the Dead spoke! From cairns and kingly graves,
The Heroes called; - and Saints from carliest shrines.
And the Land spoke! - Mellifluous river-waves;

Dim forests awful with the roar of pines;
Mysterious caves, from legend-haunted deeps;
And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps;
The Land of Freedom called upon the Free!
All Nature spoke; the clarions of the wind:
The organ swell of the majestic sea;

The choral stars; the Universal Mind

Spoke, like the voice from which the world began,
"No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man!"

As leaps the war-fire on the beacon hills,

Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine;
As into sunlight flash the molten rills,

Flashed the glad claymores, lightening line on line;
From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along,

From rank to rank rushed forth the choral song.

Woman and child-all caught the fire of men;
To its own Heaven that Alleluia rang;
Life to the spectres had returned again;

And from the grave an arméd Nation sprang!

83. CARADOC, THE BARD TO THE CYMRIANS. — Sir E. Bulwer Lytim.
No Cymrian bard, by the primitive law, could bear weapons.
HARK to the measured march! -The Saxons come!
The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread'
Your fathers rushed upon the swords of Rome,
And climbed her war-ships, when the Cæsar fled'

The Saxons come! why wait within the wall?
They scale the mountain : let its torrents fall!
Mark, ye
have swords, and shields, and armor, YE
No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song;
But where the warrior, there the Bard shall be!
All fields of glory to the bard belong!
His realm extends wherever godlike strife
Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life.
- his guard the shield of all,
Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear!
Unarmed he goes, that, falling, even his fall

Unarmed he goes

Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear! Does the song cease?

--

And make the sepulchre

avenge it by the deed,

a Nation freed!

4 ALFRED THE GREAT TO IIIS MEŊ. — Original Adaptation from Knowles

My friends, our country must be free! The land
Is never lost that has a son to right her,
And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones!
Strong in her children should a mother be:
Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us?
God save our native land, whoever pays

The ransom that redeems her! Now, what wait we?-
For Alfred's word to move upon the foe?

Upon him, then! Now think ye on the things
You most do love! Husbands and fathers, on
Their wives and children; lovers, on their beloved;
And all, upon their COUNTRY! When you use
Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes,
To whet them, could have lent you tears for water!
O, now be men, or never! From your hearths
Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks
Drove forth your agéd sires your wives and babes!
The couches, your fair-handed daughters used
To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press,
Weary from spoiling you! Your roofs, that hear
The wanton riot of the intruding guest,

That mocks their masters, clear them for the sake
Of the manhood to which all that 's precious clings
Else perishes. The land that bore you

Do honor to her! Let her glory in

-0!

Your breeding! Rescue her! Revenge her, or
Ne'er call her mother more! Come on, my friends
And, where you take your stand upon the field.
However you advance, resolve on this,