SONG OF THE GREEK BARD.

And where are they? and where art thou,
My country?-On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now—

The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
"Tis something in the dearth of fame,

Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,

Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?

Must we but blush ?-Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead;
Of the Three Hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla!

What, silent still! and silent all!

Ah! no-the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise-we come, we come!"
"Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain-in vain: strike other chords:

Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble call— How answers each bold bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave-
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these;
It made Anacreon's song divine:

He served-but served Polycrates

A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.

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The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades !

O! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks-

They have a king who buys and sells:
In native swords, and native ranks,

The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!

Our virgins dance beneath the shade-
I see their glorious black eyes shine;

But, gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,-

Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;

There, swan-like, let me sing and die;
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

1. Meaning of burning?

2. Explain the allusions to Delos and Phoebus.

3. What place is alluded to?

BYRON.

4. What Persian ?

5. What was the Pyrrhic phalanx ? 6. Who was Cadmus ?

XXXIII. THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

6

"THE 5th of May came amid wind and rain. Napoleon's passing spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than the elements around. The words tête d'armée,' (head of the army,) the last which escaped from his lips, intimated that his thoughts were watching the current of a heady fight. About eleven minutes before six in the evening Napoleon expired."- Scott's Life of Napoleon.

THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

WILD was the night, yet a wilder night
Hung round the soldier's pillow;
In his bosom there raged a fiercer fight.
Than the fight on the wrathful billow.

A few fond mourners were kneeling by,
The few that his stern heart cherish'd;
They knew by his glared and unearthly eye,
That life had nearly perish'd.

They knew by his awful and kingly look,

By the order hastily spoken,

That he dream'd of days when the nations shook,
And the nation's hosts were broken.

He dream'd that the Frenchmen's sword still slew,
And triumph'd the Frenchmen's "eagle;"
And the struggling Austrian fled anew,
Like the hare before the beagle.

The bearded Russian he scourged again,
The Prussian's camp was routed,
And again, on the hills of haughty Spain,
His mighty armies shouted.

Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows,
At the pyramids, at the mountain,
Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows,
And by the Italian fountain.

On the snowy cliffs where mountain-streams
Dash by the Switzer's dwelling,

He led again, in his dying dreams,
His hosts, the broad earth quelling.

Again Marengo's field was won,
And Jena's bloody battle;
Again the world was over-run,
Made pale at his cannon's rattle.

He died at the close of that darksome day,
A day that shall live in story:

In the rocky land they placed his clay "And left him alone with his glory."

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MCLELLAN,

XXXIV. THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

"FRANCE now (1803) had little of popular sympathy in any other country. She had lost the support of the democratic party throughout Europe, and stood forth merely as a threatening and conquering military power. This change, though at the time little attended to, as all alterations which are gradual in their progress, was of the utmost moment, and deprived the contest, in its future stages, of the principal dangers with which it had at first been fraught. It was no longer a war of opinion on either side of the channel. Democratic ambition did not now hail, in the triumphs of the French, the means of individual elevation. Aristocratic passion ceased to hope for this overthrow as paving the way to a restoration of the ancient order of things. The contest had changed its character: from being social it had become national. Not the maintenance of the constitution, the coercion of the disaffected, the overthrow of the Jacobins, was the object for which we fought: the preservation of the national independence, the vindication of the national honour was felt to be at stake. The painful schism which had so long divided the country was at an end. National success was looked upon with triumph and exultation by an immense majority of the people, with the exception of a few party leaders who to the last regarded it with aversion. The war called forth the sympathies of almost all classes of citizens. The young, who had entered into life under its excitement, were unanimous in its support; and a contest which had commenced under more divided feelings than any recorded in the history of England, terminated with a degree of unanimity unprecedented in its long and glorious career."-Alison's History of Europe.

ON THE THREATENED INVASION, 1803.

The kettle o' the kirk and state,
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loon

Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By heaven the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch his true-born brother
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be d―d together!
Who will not sing "God save the King,"
Shall hang as high's the steeple;
But, while we sing "God save the King"
We'll ne'er forget the people.

OUR bosoms we'll bare for the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high,

To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,

Or crush'd in its ruins to die!

BURNS.

XXXV. STANZAS ON THE THREATENED INVASION, 1803. "By a series of criminal enterprises the liberties of Europe have been gradually extinguished; and we are the only people in the eastern hemisphere who are in possession of equal laws and a free constitution. Freedom, driven from every spot on the Continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always chose for her favourite abode; but she is pursued even here and threatened with destruction. The inundation of lawless power, after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here; and we are most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture where it can be successfully repelled--in the Thermopylae of the world. As far as the interests of freedom are concerned--the most important by far of sublunary interests!-you, my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the federal representatives of the human race; for with you it is to determine (under God) in what condition the latest posterity shall be born; their fortunes are intrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this moment depend the colour and complexion of their destiny."-Robert Hall.

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Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust-
God bless the green Isle of the brave!
Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,

It would rouse the old dead from their grave!
Then rise fellow-freemen and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land!