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She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn, While, by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, Some patriot youth the glorious past revolving,
Dreams of bright days that never can return; When Athens nursed her olive bough
With hands by tyrant power unchain'd, And braided for the Muse's brow
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd; When heroes trod each classic field,
Where coward feet now faintly falter, And every arm was Freedom's shield,
And every heart was Freedom's altar.
(GREEK AIR INTERRUPTED BY A TRUMPET.) Hark! 'tis the sound that charms
The war-steed's wakening earsOh! many a mother folds her arms [hears;
Round her boy-soldier when that sound she
And, though her fond heart sinks with fears,
See from his native hills afar
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights,
Yet lavish of his lifeblood still
As if 'twere like his mountain rill, And gush'd for ever !
(RANZ DES VACHES.) Oh Music! here, even here
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power. There is an air, which oft among the rocks
Of his own loved land at evening hour Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their
flocks; Oh! every note of it would thrill his mind With tenderest thoughts, and bring about his knees
The rosy children whom he left behind; And fill each little angel eye With speaking tears, thất ask him why He wander'd from his hut to scenes like these ?
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar, Sweet notes of home, of love are all he hears,
And the stern eyes that look'd for blood before, Now, melting mournful, lose themselves in tears! (RANZ DES VACHES INTERRUPTED BY A TRUMPET.) But wake the Trumpet's blast again, And rouse the ranks of warrior men !
Oh War! when Truth thy arm employs, And Freedom's spirit guides the labouring storm, Thy vengeance takes a hallow'd form,
And, like Heaven's lightning, sacredly destroys.
Of Him who made all harmony
From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty.
(SPANISH PATRIOT's song.)
By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, By brave Gerona's deathful story,
That while one Spaniard's lifeblood beats, That blood shall stain a conqueror's glory!
(SPANISH AIR CONCLUDED.) But ah! if vain the patriot Spaniard's zeal,
If neither valour's force nor wisdom's lights Can break nor melt the blood-cemented seal
That shuts to close the book of Europe's rights, What song shall then in sadness tell
Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, Of buried hopes remembered well,
Of ardour quench'd, and honour faded ?
In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ?
lay, Like the sweet vesper of the bird that sings In the bright sunset of an April day,
While the cold shower yet hangs upon his wings. Long may the Irish heart repeat
An echo to those lively strains ;
That melody on distant plains,
With grateful warmth, and, sighing, sayThus speaks the music of the land
Where welcome ever lights the stranger's way; VOL. III.
Where, still the woe of others to beguile,
Is e'en the gayest heart's most loved employ ; Where Grief herself will generously smile Through her own tears, to share another's joy!
The mariner, when first he sails, While his bold oars the sparkling surface sweep,
With new delight transported, hails The blue expanded skies and level deep.
Such young Ambition's fearless aim, Pleased with the gorgeous scene of wealth and
In the gay morn of early fame, [power, Nor thinks of evening storm and gloomy hour.
Life's opening views bright charms reveal, Feed the fond wish, and fan the youthful fire;
But woes unknown those charms conceal, And fair illusions cheat our fierce desire.
There Envy shows her sullen mien, With changeful colour, grinning smiles of hate ;
There Malice stabs, with rage serene; In deadly silence treacherous Friendships wait.
High on a mountain's lofty brow,
Rock'd by the roaring winds that blow,
Within the sun-gilt vale beneath [dwells, More moderate Hope with sweet Contentment
While gentler breezes round them breathe, And softer showers refresh their peaceful cells.
To better genius ever blind,
Man quits the path by Heaven design'd,
Our native powers we scorn to know; With steadfast error still the wrong pursue ;
Instruct our forward ills to grow, While sad successes but our pain renew.
In vain Heaven tempers life with sweet,
If dupes to passion and deceit,
Few can on Grandeur's stage appear,
No common virtue safe can steer, Where rocks unnumber'd lurk beneath the main.
Then happiest he whose timely hand To cool Discretion has the helm resign'd;
Enjoys the calm, in sight of land, From changing tides secure, and trustless wind.
And at her glance the savage passions die! "Tis Nature's festival; let Earth rejoice;
Vanquish'd and conqueror pour exulting songs; In distant regions, with according voice, [longs !
Let Man the victory bless—its prize to Man be