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Hark, to the sail the breeze sings,“ Let us fly;'
While soft the sail, replying to the breeze,
Says, with a yielding sigh,
“ Yes, where you please.”
Up, boy! the wind, the ray,

The blue sky o'er thee,

The deep before thee, All cry aloud, “Away !”

IN MYRTLE WREATHS.

BY ALCÆUS.

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover,

Like them of old whose one immortal blow Struck off the galling fetters that hung over

Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. Yes, lov'd Harmodius, thou’rt undying;

Still midst the brave and free, In isles, o'er ocean lying,

Thy home shall ever be.

In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its lightning,

Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet

brightning, And in the dust a despot victim laid.

Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story

Your wedded names shall be; A tyrant's death your glory,

Your meed, a nation free!

UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC.

VOL. V.

16

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