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They fought-like brave men, long and well,

They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein:

His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud_ hurrah,"
And the red field was won,
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;

Come when the blesseil seals,
Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crow.leil cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm:-
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With barquet-song, and dance, and wine,
And thou art terrible. the tear
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or sear

Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow lones, are heard -

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glorys' time,
Rest thee-there is no proudler grave,

Even in her own proud cline.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now and Fame's
One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHERE Calpe frowns, where Etna flames on high, Where Mocha's minarets salute the eye; And where the billows of the ocean roll O'er half the globe and flow from pole to pole

Where'er he sail'd o'er Neptune's old domairi,
A Briton saw, but with a patriot's pain,
America s proud Flag displayed to view,
Her thirty siars, and in a tield or blue
Proclaim d her freelom lo each disant zone;
"Alas!” he sigh'd, “their ships surpass our own,
And we must llerale, that rebels thus
On our own element should vie with us.”
When ko! he saw, or thought he saw, arise,
For sleep no doubt had seal d his angry eyes,
The Genius of the Deep, and hearil him say,
Why are ye not high-spiri:ed as they?
To see your younger brothers free and great,
Should r use your energy, but not your hate;
Brittannia s sons shall ever rule the waves,
But 'lis those sons that are no longer slaves;
They-only they-brave Death in er'ry form,
And ride in triumph thro' lhe impetuous storm;
Who bulld in conscious indepenılence stand,
Nor bend the knee to kiss a royal hand;
Subjects are slaves, tho' in a mild degree;
But only citizens are dear to me;
And them I love the plost who most are free,
And give to them the Empire of the Sea,

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN FITZ-JAMES

AND THE LADY OF THE LAKE.
And now, to issue from the glen,
No pa:hway meets the wanderer s ken,
Unless he climb with footing nice,
A far projecting precipice;
The broom s tough roots his ladder made,
The hazel saplings lent their aid;
And thus an airy point he won,
Where, gleaming with the selling sun,
One burnish'i sheet of living gold,
Loch-Katrin lay beneath him rolled;
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek and bay,
Anil islanils thal, empurple bright,
Floateil amid the livelier light;
And mountains, that like giants stand,
To centinel enchanleil lanii.
High on the south, huge Benvenue
Duwn to the lake in masses threw
Crags, knolls, and mounds, consuseilly hurld,
The Tragments of an earlier world;

A wildering forest feathered o'er
His ruined siiles and summit hoar,
While on the north, through middle air,
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare."

From the steep promontory gazed The stranger, raptured a d amazel; And, “ What a scene were here,” he cried, "For princely pomp or churchnian's pride!"

« Blithe were it then to wander here!
But now,--beshrew yon nimble deer,-
Like that same hermil's, thin and spare,
The copse must give my evining fare;
Some mossy bank my couch must be,
Some ruslling oak my canopy:
Yet pass we that;-the war and chase
Give lille choice of resting place;
A sunimer night, in green-wood spent,
Were but to-morrow' s merriment;-
But hosis inay in these wilds abouni,
Such as are better missed than found;
To meet with highland plunderers here
Were'worse than loss of steed or deer.
I am alone;- my bugle strain
May call some straggler of the train;
Or fall the worst that may betide,
Ere now this falchion has been tried.”

But scarce again his horn he wound,
When lo! forth starting at the sound,
From underneath an ageil oak,
That slanted from the islet rock,
A damsel guider of its way,
A little skiff shot to the bay,
That round the promontory steep
Led its deep line in graceful sweep,
Eldying, in almost viewless wave,
The weeping willow twig to lave,
And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,
The beach of pebbles bright as snow,
The boal had touched the silver strand,
Just as the hunter left his stand,
And stooil concealed ainid the brake
To view this Lady of the Lake.
The maiilen pausell, as is again
She thought to catch the distant strain,
With head up-raiseil, and look intenl,
And eye and car alleolive bent,

And locks flung back, and lips apart,
Like monument of Gr cian art;
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
The guardian Naiad of tbe strand.

And ne'er tlid Grecian chisel trace
A nymph, à Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form, or lovelier face!
Whal though the sun, with ardent frown,
Had slightly tingell her cheek win brotvn,
The sportive toil, which, short and light,
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,
Serveil too in hastier swell to show
Short glimpses of a breast of snow;
What though no rule of courtly grace
To measured mood had trained her pace,
A fool more light, a slep more true,
Ne'er fron the heath-flower dashell the dew;
E'en the slight hare-bell raised its headly
Elastic from her airy tread:
What though upon her speech there hung
The accents of the mountain tongue,
Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,
The listen r held his breath to hear.

A chieftain's daughter seemed the niaid;
Her satin snood, her silken plaid,
Her gollen broveh such birth betrayed;
And seldom was a snood amid
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid,
Whose glossy black to shane might bring
The plumage of the raven's wing;
And selilom o'er a breast so fair
Mantled a plaid with modest care;
And never brooch the folıts combined
Above a heart more gi od and kind;
Her kinuiness and her worth to spy
You need but gaze on Ellen's eyes
Not Katrine in her mirror blue,
Gives back the shaggy banks more true,
Than every free-born glance co: fessed
The guileless movements of her breast;
Whether joy danced in ber dark eye,
Or wo or pily claimed a sigh,
Or filia) love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion poured a prayer,
Or lale of injury called forth,
The indignant spirit of the north,
One only passion unrevealed,
With maiden pride the maid concealed,

Yet not less purely felt the flame; O need I tell that passion's name! Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne : « Father!" she cried; the rocks around Loved to prolong the gentle sound. A while she paused, no answer came, “ Malcolm, was thine the blast ?" the name Less resolutely uttered fell, The echoes could not catch the swell. A stranger, I,” the huntsman said, Advancing from the hazel shade. The maid alarmed, with hasty oar, Pushed her light shallop from the shore; : And when a space was gained between, Closer she drew her bosom's screen; So forth the startled Swan would swing, So turn to prune her ruffled wing; Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, She paused, and on the stranger gazed: Not his the form, nor his the eye, That youthful maidens wont to fly. On his bold visage, middle age Had slightly pressed its signet sage, Yet had not quenched the open truth, And fiery vehemence ni youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to firej of hasty love, or headlong ire. His limbs were cast in manly mould, For hardy sports, or contest bold; And though in peaceful garb arrayed, And weaponless, except his blade, His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride, As if a Baron's crest he wore, And sheathed in armor trod the shore. Slighting the petty need he showed, He told of his benighted road; His ready speech flowed fair and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy, Yot seemed that tone, and gesture bland, Less used to sue than to command,

A while the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at last replied,
That highland halls were open still
To wildered wanderors of the hil.

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