GREECE.1

He who hath bent him o'er the dead,
Ere the first day of death is fled-
Before decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers;
And marked the mild angelic air,
The rapture of repose that's there,
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And-but for that sad shrouded eye,
That fires not-wins not-weeps not-now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's2 apathy
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon-
Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,

The first-last look-by death revealed!
Such is the aspect of this shore-
"Tis Greece-but living Greece no more!3
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start-for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,

That parts not quite with parting breath,
But beauty with that fearful bloom,

That hue which haunts it to the tomb-

(1) There is, perhaps, no instance in our poetical literature in which a continued simile is so beautifully sustained, as that which runs through these lines. The affecting picture of the lovely form, no longer animated by the living spirit, deeply touching in itself, derives a new interest from its exquisite adaptation to the subject which suggested it. The music of the rhythm too--so soft, so delicately modulated-floats like a requiem over the whole, and leaves nothing to be desired in consummating the effect.

(2) Cold obstruction-This expression is taken from Shakspere, who speaks of the dead as "lying in cold obstruction," in allusion to the stoppage of the animal functions.

(3) The following passage, from Gillies' "History of Greece," is thought to have suggested the above comparison:-" The present state of Greece, compared to the ancient, is the silent obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid lustre of active life."

Expression's last receding ray,

A gilded halo hovering round decay,

The farewell beam of feeling past away!

Spark of that flame-that flame of heavenly birth-
Which gleams-but warms no more its cherished earth!

Clime of the unforgotten brave!1
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was freedom's home or glory's grave!
Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven crouching slave,
Say, is not this Thermopyla ?2
These waters blue that round you lave,
Oh, servile offspring of the free-
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?
The gulf, the rock of Salamis !2
These scenes, their story not unknown,
Arise, and make again your own;
Snatch from the ashes of your sires
The embers of their former fires;
And he who in the strife expires
Will add to theirs a name of fear
That tyranny shall quake to hear,
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
They too will rather die than shame :
For freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft is ever won.
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page,
Attest it many a deathless age!
While kings, in dusty darkness hid,
Have left a nameless pyramid,

Thy heroes, though the general doom
Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,

The mountains of their native land!

(1) The transition here to another variation of the same theme, by a change of key, as it were, is very striking. The energy of these lines is as remarkable as the pathos of the preceding.

(2) Thermopyla, Salamis—An instance of the suggestive power of a name. No description is given of the deeds for which these places were remarkable-the simple mention of them is enough.

There points thy Muse to stranger's eye,
The graves of those that cannot die!-
"Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,
Each step from splendour to disgrace;
Enough no foreign foe could quell
Thy soul, till from itself it fell;'
Yes! self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot sway.

THERMOPYLE.

THEY fell devoted, but undying;

The very gale their names seemed sighing;
The waters murmured of their name,
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and grey,

Claimed kindred with their sacred clay,
Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain,
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Rolls mingling with their fame for ever.

Byron.

Byron.

TO A SKYLARK.1

ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth, where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
The nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!
To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler!-that love-prompted strain
("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond,)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

(1) It is difficult to conceive any thing more exquisitely graceful than these ines; the last two especially, and that beginning, “A privacy of," &c., may be characterised as perfect.

(2) Yet might'st thou seem, de i. e. yet you mount so high, that you might seem to have lost all connection with earth, and not to be inspired by the genial innces of spring, which prompt the songs of other birds.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of heaven and home!

Wordsworth.

THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET,'

OR POWER AND GENTLENESS.

NOBLE the mountain stream,

Bursting in grandeur from its vantage ground;2
Glory is in its gleam

Of brightness;-thunder in its deafening sound:

Mark, how its foamy spray,

Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,
Mimics the bow of day,

Arching in majesty the vaulted skies;

Steeping the rocks around;-Oh! tell me where

Could majesty and power

Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair?

Yet lovelier, in my view,

The Streamlet, flowing silently serene;

Traced by the brighter hue,

And livelier growth3 it gives; itself unseen!

It flows through flowery meads,

Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse;
Its quiet beauty feeds

The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.

(1) The excellent moral of this piece is recommended by its tasteful style and versification. The closing stanza is finely expressed.

(2) Vantage ground-vantage is a contraction of advantage, and the expression is equivalent to, position of advantage, i. e. an elevated and commanding position. (3) Livelier growth-Cowper speaks of the rills that

"lose themselves at length

In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course."

Gently it murmurs, by

The village churchyard, in low plaintive tone,
A dirge-like melody

For worth and beauty modest as its own.

More gaily now it

sweeps

By the small school-house, in the sunshine bright;
And o'er the pebbles leaps,

Like happy hearts by holiday made light.

May not its course express,

In characters which they who run may read,
The charms of gentleness,

Were but its still small voice allowed to plead?

What are the trophies gained

By power, alone, with all its noise and strife,
To that meek wreath, unstained,

Won by the charities' that gladden life?

Niagara's streams might fail,

And human happiness be undisturbed:

But Egypt would turn pale,

Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty_curbed!

Bernard Barton.

GOD'S WATCHFUL CARE.

THE insect, that with puny wing
Just shoots along one summer ray,
The floweret, which the breath of spring
Wakes into life for half a day,
The smallest mote, the tenderest hair,
All feel a heavenly Father's care.

E'en from the glories of his throne
He bends to view this earthly ball;

Sees all as if that all were one,

Loves one as if that one were all;
Rolls the swift planets in their spheres,
And counts the sinner's lonely tears.

Cunningham.

(1) Charities-from the Greek Xápis, favour, love-the domestic affections.