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Large, lofty, gorgeous, all that meets the
eye, Strong with the stamp of ancient majesty ; The impress which so undefined, yet clear, Tells that the former mighty have been there. All looking hoary pomp; the walls rich scroll’d, The roof high flourish'd, arras stiff with gold, In many a burning hue and broad festoon Wreathing those casements, blazon'd now with noon; The marble tablets on their silver claws, Loaded with nymph, and grace, and pix, and vase.
Beside the mirror foot, the Indian screen
The rout a moment paused, gave glance and smile,
PERICLES AND ASPASIA.
This was the ruler of the land,
When Athens was the land of fame ;
When each was like a living flame :
Yet, not by fetter, nor by spear,
His sovereignty was held or won ;
Loved, but as freemen love alone :
Resistless words were on his tongue ;
Then eloquence first flash'd below!
Minerva, from the thunderer's brow!
And thron'd immortal, by his side,
A woman sits, with eye sublime,--
But if their solemn love were crime,
He perish'd—but his wreath was won
He perish'd on his height of fame! Then sank the cloud on Athens' sun;
Yet still she conquer'd in his name. Fill'd with his soul, she could not dieHer conquest was posterity!
LINES WRITTEN AT SPITHEAD.
Hark to the knell !
Of the stormy ocean wave;
From the mariner's deep sea grave.
And the thunder is on the gale ;
Deadly, and dismal, and pale.
And the sea rolls in fire and in foam ;
We hear the sea-knell come.
Ten thousand men lie low;
When the stormy night-winds blow.
In peace ! for no mortal care,
The heart that once slumbers there.
LEONIDAS. Shout for the mighty men
Who died along this shore,— Who died within this mountain glen! For never nobler chieftain's head Was laid on valour's crimson bed,
Nor ever prouder gore
Who on the Persian tents,
Like the roused elements,
Greece is a hopeless slave.
Upon thy sea-wash'd grave.
The tree-the rock—the sand-
The vision of thy band
Mother of men like these!
Till in thy crimson'd seas
THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS.
It was the wild midnight,
A storm was on the sky; The lightning gave its light,
And the thunder echoed by.
The torrent swept the glen,
The ocean lash'd the shore ; Then rose the Spartan men,
To make their bed in gore !
Swift from the deluged ground
Three hundred took the shield; Then, silent, gather'd round
The leader of the field.
He spoke no warrior-word,
He bade no trumpet blow ; But the signal thunder roar’d,
And they rush'd upon the foe.
The fiery element
Show'd, with one mighty gleam, Rampart, and flag, and tent,
Like the spectres of a dream.
All up the mountain side,
All down the woody vale, All by the rolling tide
Waved the Persian banners pale.
And King Leonidas.
Among the slumbering band, Sprang foremost from the pass,
Like the lightning's living brand.
Then double darkness fell,
And the forest ceased its moan ; But there came a clash of steel,
And a distant, dying groan.