What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, The feast of vultures, and the waste of life? The varying fortune of each separate field, The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?

The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall? In this the struggle was the same with all; Save that distemper'd passions lent their force

In bitterness that banish'd all remorse. None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,

The captive died upon the battle-slain :
In either cause, one rage alone possest
The empire of the alternate victor's breast;
And they that smote for freedom or for

Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung, The first success to Lara's numbers clung: But that vain victory hath ruin'd all, They form no longer to their leader's call; In blind confusion on the foe they press, And think to snatch is to secure success. The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate, Lure on the broken brigands to their fate; In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do, To check the headlong fury of that crew; In vain their stubborn ardour be would tame, The hand that kindles cannot quench the

And famine wrings, and fever sweeps aw
His numbers melting fast from their arra
Intemperate triumph fades to discontent
And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent
But few remain to aid his voice and ha
And thousands dwindled to a scanty ba
Desperate, though few, the last and b
remain'd

To mourn the discipline they late disdain
One hope survives, the frontier is not f
And thence they may escape from native w
And bear within them to the neighbouri
An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate
state
Hard is the task their father-land to qu
But harder still to perish or submit.

His blade is bared, in him there is an As deep, but far too tranquil for despai A something of indifference more than t Becomes the bravest, if they feel for me He turn'd his eye on Kaled, ever near, And still too faithful to betray one fear Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twili threw

Along his aspect an unwonted hue Of mournful paleness, whose deep exprest

113

Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!"

Commanding, aiding, animating all, Varre foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall, Cars Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel,

wiring hope, himself had ceased to feel. fied, for well they knew that flight were vain ;

but those that waver turn to smite again, The yet they find the firmest of the foe Red before their leader's look and blow: wow girt with numbers, now almost alone, Sails their ranks, or reunites his own; Elf he spared not-once they seem'd to flylow was the time, he waved his hand on high,

fad shook – why sudden droops that plumed

crest?

The shaft is sped-the arrow's in his breast! The fatal gesture left the unguarded side, Aad Death hath stricken down yon arm of pride.

The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; This hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung!

Bet yet the sword instinctively retains, Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins; The Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow, 4 senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow, Peives not Lara that his anxious page Bles his charger from the combat's rage: Mame his followers charge, and charge again;

In mix'd the slayers now to heed the slain!

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; The war-horse masterless is on the earth, And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;

And some too near that rolling torrent lie, Whose waters mock the lip of those that die; That panting thirst which scorches in the breath

Of those that die the soldier's fiery death, In vain impels the burning mouth to crave One drop—the last—to cool it for the grave; With feeble and convulsive effort swept, Their limbs along the crimson'd turf have crept;

The faint remains of life such struggles

waste,

But yet they reach the stream, and bend

to taste:

They feel its freshness, and almost partake-
Why pause? No further thirst have they
to slake-
It is unquench'd, and yet they feel it not;
It was an agony-but now forgot!

Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene, A breathing but devoted warrior lay: Where but for him that strife had never been, Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away. His follower once, and now his only guide, And with his scarf would staunch the tides Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side, With each convulsion, in a blacker gush; that rush, In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow: And then, as his faint breathing waxes low, He scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain,

He clasps the hand that pang which would And merely adds another throb to pain.

She told nor whence, nor why she left behind

Er all for one who seem'd but little kind. Why did she love him? Curious fool!- be still

human love the growth of human will? her he might be gentleness; the stern Bave deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,

And when they love, your smilers guess not how Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow.

They were not common links, that form'd the chain

That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain; Bat that wild tale she brook'd not to unfold, And seal'd is now each lip that could have told.

Heaved up the bank, and dash'd it from the shore,

Then paused, and look'd, and turn'd, and seem'd to watch, And still another hurried glance would snatch, And follow with his step the stream that flow'd, As if even yet too much its surface show'd: At once he started, stoop'd; -around him

strown

The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone;

Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there,

And slung them with a more than common

care.

Meantime the Serf had crept to where

unseen

Himself might safely mark what this might

mean;

He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,
But ere he well could mark the buoyant
And something glitter'd starlike on the vest,
trunk,

It rose again but indistinct to view,
A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk :
And left the waters of a purple hue,
Then deeply disappear'd: the horseman
gazed

Till ebb'd the latest eddy it had raised;
Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,
And instant spurr'd him into panting speed.
His face was mask'd-the features of the
dead,
If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread;

But if in sooth a star its bosom bore,
Such is the badge that knighthood ever

And she would sit beneath the very tree Where lay his drooping head upon her knee; And in that posture where she saw him fall, His words, his looks, his dying grasp recal; And she had shorn, but saved her ravenhair,

And oft would snatch it from her bosom there,

Herself would question, and for him reply Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly From some imagined spectre in pursuit; Then seat her down upon some linden root,

And hide her visage with her meagre hand Or trace strange characters along the sandThis could not last-she lies by him sh loved;

wound.

her truth too dearl proved.

MANY a vanish'd year and age,
And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's
shock,

Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
The keystone of a land, which still,
Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,
The land-mark to the double tide
That purpling rolls on either side,
As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
Arise from out the earth which drank
The stream of slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below:
Or could the bones of all the slain,
Who perish'd there, be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like, through those
skies,

clear

Than yon tower-capt Acropolis Which seems the very clouds to kiss.

and the governor seeing it was impe sible to hold out against so mighty a fore thought it fit to beat a parley: but whi they were treating about the articles, o of the magazines in the Turkish cam wherein they had six hundred barrels powder, blew up by accident, whereby or seven hundred men were killed: whi so enraged the infidels, that they wou not grant any capitulation, but stormed t place with so much fury. that they took and put most of the garrison, with Signi Minotti, the governor, to the sword. T rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor exti ordinary, were made prisoners of war." History of the Turks, vol. III. p. 151.

On dun Cithaeron's ridge appears The gleam of twice ten thousand spears And downward to the Isthmian plain From shore to shore of either main, The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines Along the Moslem's leaguering lines; And the dusk Spahi's bands advance Beneath each bearded pasha's glauce; And far and wide as eye can reach The turban'd cohorts throng the beach; And there the Arab's camel kneels, And there his steed the Tartar wheels; The Turcoman hath left his herd, The sabre round his loins to gird; And there the volleying thunders pour, Till waves grow smoother to the roar. The trench is dug, the cannon's breath Wings the far hissing globe of death; Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, Which crumbles with the ponderous ball And from that wall the foe replies, O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, With fires that answer fast and well The summons of the Infidel.

But near and nearest to the wall Of those who wish and work its fall,