"Lyre ! O Lyre! my chosen treasure, Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings; Like WOLFE to conquer, and like WOLFE to die. "Soft!-the blood of murdered legions O then, innocently brave, I will wrestle with the wave; "Blow, ye breezes !-gently blowing, O'er thee, my dear paternal soil, "Then shall Misery's sons and daughters I will scatter o'er the land On an oak, whose branches hoary He blushed adieu, and rambled down the dale. Lightly touched by fairy fingers, Hark! the Lyre enchants the wind; Fond ALCAUS listens, lingers, -Lingering, listening, looks behind. Now the music mounts on high, Sweetly swelling through the sky; To every tone, with tender heat, His heart-strings vibrate, and his pulses beat. Now the strains to silence stealing, 'T is Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud. "Lyre! O Lyre! my chosen treasure, Solace of my bleeding heart; Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure, "What, though all the world neglect me, While this hallowed Lyre is mine? Heaven gave this Lyre,-and thus decreed, ON THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. OH! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased a while, And HOPE, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man! Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew :Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; HOPE, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked-as KOSCIUSKO fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air— On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wide cry of horror and dismay! Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth shook-red meteors flashed along the sky, And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry! Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car Departed spirits of the mighty dead! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of Desolation reigns; Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, Her name, her nature, withered from the world! EDWIN AND ANGELINA. A BALLAD. 'TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, 'For here, forlorn and lost I tread, 'Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries, 'Here to the houseless child of want open still; And though my portion is but scant, |