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What, silent, still ? and silent all ?
Ah! no;—the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fail,
And answer, “ Let one living head, But one arise,—we come; we come!" ”Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain-in vain: strike other chords ;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble callHow answers each bold bacchanal!
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gaveThink ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine
We will not think of themes like these! It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served—but served PolycratesA tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks
They have a king who buys and sells : In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade-
But gazing on each glowing maid,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
There, swan-like, let me sing and die : A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
THE GLADIATOR. The seal is set.—Now welcome, thou dread power! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear
That we become a part of what has been,
And here the buzz of eager nations ran,
Of worms-on battle-plains or listed spot ?
I see before me the Gladiator lie:
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him-he is gone, Ere ceased the inbuman shout which haild the wretch
He heard it, but he heeded not—his eyes
All this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire,
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
Take one example, to our purpose quite. A man of rank, and of capacious soul, Who riches had, and fame, beyond desire; An heir of flattery, to titles born, And reputation, and luxurious life. Yet, not content with ancestorial name, Or to be known because his fathers were; He on this height hereditary stood, And gazing higher, purposed in his heart To take another step. Above him seemed Alone the mount of song, the lofty seat Of canonized bards; and thitherward, By nature taught, and inward melody, In prime of youth he bent his eagle eye. No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read; What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see, He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes, And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks, And maids, as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul With grandeur filled, and melody and love. Then travel came, and took him where he wished. He cities saw, and courts and princely pomp ; And mused alone on ancient mountain brows; And mused on battle-fields, where valour fought In other days; and mused on ruins gray With years, and drank from old and fabulous wells; And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked ; And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste.