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THE LYRE AND THE SWORD.

369

Where the clarion soundeth joyously

A free and forward blast,
And where, 'twixt death and victory,

Lies all the choice thou hast !
So, with full many a stirring word,
Did speak the stern and clashing Sword.*

SECOND SPEAKER.

But a Lyre hung near that falchion,

From whose unheeded strings
Came a low and plaintive murmur,

Like the sound of viewless wings :
·0, cast thy fearful arms away!

Such were the words it spake,
" And think on those that watch and

pray
Afar, for thy dear sake!
Ah, bring not thou the voice of tearg
Into the home of thine early years)"

FIRST SPEAKER.

Again the Sword sang fiercely

Its strain of martial glee :
“O, arm thee, youthful warrior,-

The battle waits for thee !
Think on thy hero-sire, who died

Amid its wildest burst;
Think how his name hath glorified

The home where thou wert nursed.
Do not thy childhood's memories all
Tell brightly of his fame and fall ?”

SECOND SPEAKER.

• But, ah !” the sad Lyre whispered,

“ How terrible to die,
While youth, and joy, and honor

Shine in the cloudless eye!
Think how thy mother wept and kneeled

That sire's low tomb before;
At length her fount of tears is sealed,

0, open it no more!
Is it thy hand that should unfold

The memory of her griefs of old ?” * Pronounced sõrd, by Walker, Smart, and the best English authorities.

FIRST SPEAKER,

The Sword spake yet more proudly :

" Which lifts the bitterer cry, The grief for those who perish,

Or the shame for those who fly? When thou shalt join the mighty slain,

When life's brief day is done,
Wouldst have thy hero-sire disdain

To own thee for a son ?
How should he brook his line's disgrace ?
How couldst thou look upon his face ?”

THIRD SPEAKER.

I serve,

Out spake that youthful warrior : *

“ Good Sword, thou counselest well; Come with me to the battle, Where

my

true father fell : Fair Honor is the queen Bright Fame the

gem

I seek ;
Nor will I suffer, nor deserve,

A blush to stain my cheek !
Unshaken let me ever stand,
Honor at heart, and sword in hand !
“ And thou, fond Lyre, remember

Thou art not wont to weep
On those who tamely perish

In slothfulness and sleep;
Still have thy noblest strains been poured

Above the true and free;
Still loves the Lyre to grace the Sword -

So let it ever be !
The Sword † to win my victor-wreath,
The Lyre to solemnize my death !”

ANON.

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God băde the Sun with golden steps sublime

Advance !
He whispered in the listening ear of Time,

Advance !

* It may be more effective to omit this line in the delivery.

+ Here a hand on the First's shoulder ; at Lyre on the Second's, and a look upward.

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He băde the guiding spirits of the Stars,
With lightning speed, in silver shining cars,
Along the bright floor of his azure hall,

Advance !
Sun, Stars, and Time, obey the voice, and all

Advance !

The River at its bubbling fountain cries

Advance!
The Clouds proclaim, like heralds, through the skies,

Advance!
Throughout the world the mighty Master's laws
Allow not one brief moment's idle

pause. The Earth is full of life, the swelling seeds

Advance !
And Summer hours, like flowery-harnessed steeds,

Advance !

To Man's most wondrous hand the same voice cried

Advance !
Go clear the woods, and o'er the bounding tide

Advance!
Go draw the marble from its secret bed,
And make the cedar bend its giant head :
Let domes and columns through the wondering air

Advance !
The world, O Man! is thine. But wouldst thou share ?

Advance !

Unto the soul of man the same voice spoke,

Advance !
From out the chaos, thunder-like, it broke,

Advance !
Go track the comet in its wheeling race,
And drag the lightning from its hiding-place :
From out the night of ignorance and fears,

Advance !
For Love and Hope, borne by the coming years,

Advance !

0, Ireland ! — O, my country! wilt thou not

Advance ?
Wilt thou not share the world's progressive lot~

Advance ?

Must seasons change, and countless years

roll

on,
And thou remain a darksome Ajalon ? *
And never see the crescent moon of Hope

Advance ?
T is time thine heart and

eye

had wider scope

Advance!
Dear brothers, wake! look up ! be firm ! be strong !

Advance !
From out the starless night of fraud and wrong,

Advance !
The chains have fallen from off thy wasted hands,
And every man a seeming freedman stands ;
But, ah ! 't is in the soul that freedom dwells, -

Advance!
Proclaim that then thou wear'st no manacles, -

Advance!
Advance ! thou must advance or perish now;

Advance !
Advance! Why live with wasted heart and brow;-

Advance !
Advance ! or shrink at once into the

grave;
Be bravely free, or artfully a slave :
Why fret thy master, if thou must have one ? —

Advance !
“ Advance three steps, the glorious work is done !”

Advance !
The first is Courage — 't is a giant stride ! -

Advance !
With bounding steps up Freedom's rugged side

Advance!
KNOWLEDGE will lead you to the dazzling heights,
TOLERANCE will teach and guard your brothers' rights :
Faint not! for thee a pitying Future waits,

Advance!
Be wise, be just; with will as fixed as Fate's,

Advance! D. F. M'CARTHY,

LXVIII. - GREECE.
He who hath bent him o'er the dead,
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,

The last of danger and distress, * Ajalon derives its renown from the command of Joshua : “Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, and thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon.”

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Before Decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
And marked the mild, angelic air,
The rapture of repose, that's there,
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek —
And but for that sad, shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins, not, weeps not, now,

And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's apathy
Appalls the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon
Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, say, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power ;
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
The first -- last look by death revealed !
Such is the aspect of this shore-
'Tis Greece but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start -- for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb

Expression's last receding ray,
A gilded halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of feeling past away!
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth.

Clime of the unforgotten brave !
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave !
Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee ?
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave!

Say, is not this Thermopylæ?
These waters blue that round you lave,

O servile offspring of the free
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?
The gulf, the rock, of Salamis !
These scenes, their story not unknown,

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