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ID. QVANDO. ACCIDERIT. NON. SATIS. A VDEO EFFARI. SIQVIDEM. NON. CLARIVS. MIHI PER.SACROS. TRIPODES. CERTA. REFERT. DEVS

NEC. SERVAT. PENITVs. FIDEM

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TAMEN

NAM. LAEVVM.TONVIT. NON. FVERIT. PROCYL. QVAERENDVS. CELERI. QVI. PROPERET. GRADV

IT. GALLVM. REPRIMAT. FEROX

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E U R O P E.

At that dread season when th' indignant north

Poured to vain wars her tardy numbers forth,
When Frederic bent his ear to Europe's cry,
And fanned too late the flame of liberty;
By feverish hope oppressed and anxious thought,
In Dresden’s grove the dewy cool I sought.
Through tangled boughs the broken moonshine

played,
And Elbe slept soft beneath his linden shade-
Yet slept not all ;-I heard the ceaseless jar,
The rattling wagons, and the wheels of war,
The sounding lash, the march's mingled hum,
And, lost and heard by fits, the languid drum;
O’er the near bridge the thundering hoofs that

trode, And the far-distant fife that thrilled along the

road. Yes, sweet it seems across some watery dell

To catch the music of the pealing bell;
And sweet to list, as on the beach we stray,
The ship-boy's carol in the wealthy bay :
But sweet no less, when Justice points the spear,
Of martial wrath the glorious din to hear,
To catch the war-note on the quivering gale,
And bid the blood red paths of conquest hail.

O, song of hope, too long delusive strain.
And hear we now thy flattering voice again ?
But late, alas, I left thee cold and still,
Stunned by the wrath of Heaven, on Pratzen's

hill. 0, on that hill may no kind month renew The fertile rain, the sparkling summer dew. Accursed of God, may those bleak summits tell The field of anger where the mighty fell. There youthful Faith and high born Courage rest, And, red with slaughter, Freedom's humbled

crest, There Europe,soiled with blood her tresses gray, And ancient Honor's shield – all vilely thrown

away. Thus mused my soul, as in succession drear Rose each grim shape of Wrath and Doubt and

Fear.
Defeat and shame in grizzly vision passed,

And Vengeance, bought with blood, and glori

ous Death the last. Then as my gaze their waving eagles met, And through the night each sparkling bayonet, Still memory told how Austria's evil hour Had felt on Praga’s field a Frederic's power, And Gallia's vaunting train, and Mosco's horde, Had fleshed the maiden steel of Brunswic's

sword. 0! yet, I deemed, that Fate, by Justice led, Might wreath once more the veteran's silver

head; That Europe's ancient pride would yet disdain The cumbrous sceptre of a single reign; That conscious right would tenfold strength af

ford, And heaven assist the patriot's holy sword, And look in mercy through th' auspicious sky, To bless the saviour host of Germany. And are they dreams, these bodings, such as

shed Their lonely comfort o'er the hermit's bed ? And are they dreams ? or can the Eternal Mind Care for a sparrow, yet neglect mankind ? Why, if the dubious battle own his power, And the red sabre, where he bids, devour, Why then can one the curse of worlds deride,

And millions weep a tyrant's single pride ?

Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps strayed, Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid. It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear; My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide Through the green walks of scented even-tide, Or stretched with me in noonday ease along, To list the reaper's chaunt, or throstle's song: But she of loftier port, whose grave control Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul ; She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil, With fame's bright promise cheers the student's

toil;

That same was she, whose ancient lore refined
The sober hardihood of Sidney's mind.
Borne on her wing, no more I seemed to rove
By Dresden's glittering spires, and linden grove;
No more the giant Elbe, all silver bright,
Spread his broad bosom to the fair moonlight,
While the still margent of his ample flood
Bore the dark image of the Saxon wood
(Woods happy once, that heard the carols free
Of rustic love, and cheerful industry;
Now dull and joyless lie their alleys green,
And silence marks the tract where France has

been.)

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