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For, standing on the Persian's grave,

I could not deem myself a slave.4. A king sat on the rocky brow

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,

And men, in nations—all were his !
He counted them at break of day-
And when the sun set, where were they?

5. 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 bands like mine?

6. '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

For what is left the poet here ?-
For Greeks, a blush for Greece, a tear !

7. Must we but weep o'er days more bless'd ?

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 Thermopylæ !

8. What, silent still ? and silent all l–

Ah! nv ;—the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

“ Let one living head, But one arise,—we come, we come !" 'Tis but the living who are dumb.

And answer,


Sappho.-A famous Greek poetess, a native of Mitylene in

the island of Lesbos. Delos.-An island in the Archipelago. According to a

legend, it was called out of the deep by the trident of Neptune, but was a floating island until Jupiter fastened

it to the bottom of the sea. Phoebus.- Apollo, who was born in Delos. Scian muse.—Homer, who was said to be a native of Scio

or Chios. Teian muse.—Anacreon, a native of Teos, a city in Asia

Minor. Islands of the bless'd.--The "Insulæ Fortunata” of the

ancients, the abode of the happy dead, placed at the western extremity of the earth, near the River Oceanus. Marathon.-A village of Attica in Greece, where the

Persians, in the reign of Darius, were signally defeated

by the Greeks, B.c. 490. Salamis.--An island in the Ægean Sea, off the west coast

of Attica, in the neighbourhood of which the Persian fleet was completely destroyed by the Greeks, B.C. 480. Thermopylæ.A famous pass lying between Mount Æta

and the Ægean Sea, where 300 Spartans kept at bay the whole Persian arniy, until they were surrounded by treachery.


“And I could weep;" th' Oneyda chief
His descant wildly thus begun;
“But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father's son !
Or bow his head in woe;
For by my wrongs, and by my wrath !
To-morrow Areouski's breath
(That fires


heav'n with storms of death)
Shall light us to the foe:
And we shall share, my Christian boy !
The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy !

“But thee, my flower, whose breath was given

By milder genii o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heaven
Forbid not thee to weep :
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy father's spirit grieve
To see thee, on the battle's eve,
Lamenting take a mournful leave
Of her who loved thee most :
She was the rainbow to thy sight !
Thy sun—thy heaven-of lost delight!

“ To-morrow let us do or die !
But when the bolt of death is hurled,
Ah! whither then with thee to fly,
Shall Outalissi roam the world ?
Seek we thy once loved home?
The hand is gone that cropt its flowers :
Unheard their clock repeats its hours :
Cold is the hearth within their bow'rs!
And should we thither roam,
Its echoes and its empty tread
Would sound like voices from the dead !

“Or shall we cross yon mountains blue,
Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed ;
And by my side, in battle true,
A thousand warriors drew the shaft ?
Ah! there, in desolation cold,
The desert serpent dwells alone,
Where grass o'ergrow's each mouldering bone,
And stones themselves to ruin grown,
Like me, are death-like old.
Then seek we not their camp—for there
The silence dwells of my despair !

“But hark, the trump !-to-morrow thou

In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears :
Even from the land of shadows now
My father's awful ghost appears,
Amidst the clouds that round us roll;
He bids my soul for battle thirst
He bids me dry the last—the first-
The only tears that ever burst
From Outalissi's soul;
Because I may not stain with grief
The death-song of an Indian chief.”


The Lament of Outalissi.—The extract is taken from Campbell's poem, "Gertrude of Wyoming," which is founded upon the desolation of Wyoming in Pennsylvania by the Indians in 1778. Outalissi, the Oneyda chief, came to warn the small English colony of their danger, but was too late. Gertrude, the heroine of the poem, was struck with an arrow while attempting to shield her betrothed, who escapes with Outalissi.


HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS. [Hamlet's father had been murdered by his brother, who married

the queen_his sister-in-law-and succeeded to the throne. The ghost of the murdered king appears to the officers on guard round the castle ; and our extract contains an account

of the way in which the news was broken to Hamlet.] Hor. Hail to your lordship !

Ham. I am glad to see you well : Horatio,—or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name with

you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? Marcellus ?

Mar. My good lord

Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, Sir; But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall


do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore ?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio !
My father,--methinks I see my father.

Hor. Where,
My lord ?
Ham. In



Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yester-night.
Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My lord, the king your father.
Ham. The king my

Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham. For Heaven's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father,

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