I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy: there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and, if you dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills,

Of beauty ruled the world!

and from her throne

Yet we are Romans.

Why, in that elder day to be a Roman
Was greater than a king. And once again,
Hear me, ye walls that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! - once again I swear

The Eternal City shall be free!
Her sons shall walk with princes.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND

THOMAS CAMPBELL

THOMAS CAMPBELL was born in Glasgow in 1777. Among his poems most read are "The Pleasures of Hope," ," "Lochiel's Warning," "Hohenlinden," "Ye Mariners of England," and "Glenara." His whole life was devoted to literary work. He died in 1844.

E Mariners of England!

YE

Who guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow,

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow,
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare;
The Earth with age was wan;
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight-the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some.

Earth's cities had no sound or tread,
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb.

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the seer leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by,

Saying: "We are twins in death, proud Sun;
Thy face is cold, thy race is run;

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou, ten thousand thousand years,

Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

“This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine.
By Him recalled to breath,

Who captive led captivity,
Who robbed the grave of victory,

And took the sting from Death!

ΟΝ

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.