No soldier sound his honour'd name;
No song shall hand him down to fame;
But rank weeds o'er the inglorious grave
Shall to the blast their high heads wave;
And swept by time's strong stream away,
He soon shall sink-oblivion's prey;
And deep in Niflehim-dreary cell,
Aye shall his sprite tormented dwell,
Where grim remorse for ever wakes,
Where anguish feeds her torturing snakes,
Where disappointment and delay
For ever guard the doleful way;
Amid the joyless land of woe

Keen and bleak the chill blasts blow;
Drives the tempest, pours the rain,
Showers the hail with force amain;
Yell the night-birds as they fly
Flitting in the misty sky;

Glows the adder, swells the toad,

For sad is Hela's cold abode.

Spread then the Gothic banners to the sky,

Lift your sable banners high;

Yoke your coursers to the car,

Strike the sounding shield of war;
Go, my lov'd companions, go,
Trample on the opposing foe;

Be like the raging torrent's force,

That, rushing from the hills, speds on its foaming course.

Haste, my sons, to war's alarms,

Triumph in the clang of arms;

Joy amid the warlike toil,

Feed the raven with your spoil;

Go, prepare the eagle's food,

Go, and drench the wolf with blood,

'Till ye shall hear dark Hela's call,

And virgins waft ye to my hall;

There, wrapt in clouds, the shadowy throng

To airy combat glide along;

"Til wearied with the friendly fight,
Serimner's flesh recruits their might;
There, whilst I grasp the Roman skull,
With hydromel sweet-smiling full,

The festive song shall echo round,
The Scald repeat the deathless sound:
Then, Thor, when thou from fight shalt cease,
When death shall lay that arm in peace,
Still shall the nations fear thy nod,

The first of warriors now, and then their god;
But be each heart with rage possest,
breast;

every

Let vengeance glow in
Let conquest fell the Roman wall,
Revenge on Rome my Asgard's fall.

The Druid throng shall fall away,
victor sway;

And sink beneath your

No more shall nations bow the knee,
Vanquish'd Taranis, to thee;

No more upon the sacred stone,

Tentates, shall thy victims groan;

The vanquish'd Odin, Rome, shall cause thy fall,

And his destruction shake thy proud imperial wall. Yet, my faithful friends, beware

Luxury's enerving snare;

'Twas this that shook our Asgard's dome

That drove us from our native home;

'Twas this that smooth'd the way for victor Rome:

Gaul's fruitful plains invite your sway,

Conquest points the destin'd way;

Conquest shall attend your call,

And your success shall gild still more Valhalla's hall.

So spake the dauntless chief, and pierc'd his breast, Then rush'd to seize the seat of endless rest.

THE DEATH OF MOSES.

ISRAEL, hour is come!

my

Borne on the wings of time,

Death marks his destined prey,

Now, in the fulness of my age,

Ere faint my shrunken limbs wax weak,
Ere dim my rayless eye,

Of years and honours full, I seek the tomb.

Offspring of Abram, Moses' guardian voice,
No more shall breathe the will
Of your protecting God.
For not to me is given
On Canaan's promis'd land
At last to rest in peace:
For not to me is given
O'er Jordan's barrier flood
To reach the abundant clime:
On Moab's pathless plains
Must Moses rest in peace.

When wandering o'er the desert wilds of Zin
Faint grew your parched frames,
Then Israel sinn'd against the God of Hosts.
Have ye forgot the hour
When murmuring anger buzz'd

Along the busy tents?

Have ye forgot the hour

When, bold in secrecy,

Sedition's impious feet

Stole on from tent to tent?

Then Israel sinn'd against the God of Hosts: On me his vengeance fell.

'Twas there where Miriam died,

Where o'er a sister's corse

I rear'd in grief the monumental stone.

'Twas then the prophet's ardour lostI felt the brother's grief:

For memory's painful gratitude recall'd
The succour Miriam gave,
The succour Miriam gave,
When haven'd on the sedgy banks of Nile
Reposed my infant ark.

I call'd to mind her care,
I call'd to mind her love;

How sweetly soft she touch'd the lute

How graceful moved amid the dance,
Sedition's impious feet

Stole on from tent to tent,
Till, boldened by success,

Aloud the fury lifts her daring voice.

Why, Moses, did thy treach'rous art
Lead us from Egypt's fertile clime,
Amid these pathless wilds
To sink, wan famine's prey?
Amid these pathless wilds,
Where even Nature dies!

For here no seeds enrich the earth,
No fig-tree spreads its grateful shade,
No vine depends its cluster'd boughs,
Nor frigid fountain winds

Its murmuring course along.
Our parch'd frames sink-
We die for thirst.".

'Twas thus, blaspheming Heaven, ye spake :-
Heaven burst in twain by me the rock;
The spring rush'd forth.
"But never, Moses, shall thy feet
Possess the promis'd land:"

For Israel sinn'd against the God of Hosts:
On me his vengeance fell.

From Nebo's mountain top
I view'd the promis'd land;
O'er Palestine's luxuriant soil
I cast the eagle ken.

Far as the distant ocean's shore,
O'er Gilead's fertile soil I gaz'd:
The southward plains I saw,
And Jericho's rich plain,

Where, bower'd in palm-trees, rise her lofty towers.

Blest are Abram's favour'd race,
Blest above the sons of men;
For theirs are Canaan's fertile lands,
For theirs the aid of Heav'n.
From stern oppression's tyrant sway,
From ignominy, bonds, and death,
Heaven led the people forth.
Through pathless deserts wild and waste,
Through the wide wilderness of dearth,
Where desolation blasted all around,

Heaven led the people forth.

E'en as the eagle's parent care
Hangs o'er the lofty nest,

And flutters fondly o'er her young,
And spreads her guardian wings,
And leads them from the eyry forth,
And bids them face the sun.

Offspring of Israel! have your thankless hearts
Forgot the bounteous gifts of Heaven?
When frighted ocean stopt his waves,
And rushing seas stood still?

Have ye forgot the fires

That led your nightly march?
Forgot the heavenly food
That fell like evening dew,

For Israel's chosen race?

Oh! write his mercies on your hearts,
Treasure his bounties in your soul,
Obey the will of Heaven.

Sons of my care! to you, from highest heaven,
Jeshurun's God has spoke.

By me JEHOVAH gave the words of life:
Observe his sacred laws,

And fly the snares which superstition spreads.
Fly Moloch's horrid rites,

Astarte's orgies lewd,

And Thammuz' annual dirge,
And Chemos' wanton wiles.

Is Sittim's field forgot?

Forgot the fatal hour when thousands fell;
And Heaven's avenging arm

Hurl'd down the shafts of death?

For then in Chemos' wanton rites
The sons of Israel join'd,
And caught the harlot's melting eye,
And gave the soul to love.
Then, subdued by syren pleasure,
Captive reason bow'd to beauty,
Forgot the laws of God!

Forgot avenging Heaven-
For woman's mildly-melting eye
Thrill'd through the soften'd soul.