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To the freedom and the fame of old,
Will they rest in a stranger's banner-shade,

Though a conquering flag it be?
Will they joy with its myriad hosts to tread

On a land that once was free?
Take back your gifts,” the wanderer said

“ And leave at last to me
That far land's love--for ye cannot part
His country from the Exile's heart!”

They said—Thine Isle is a land of slaves ;
It gives no galley to the waves-

with the battle's onset blent-
No banner broad on its breezes sent-

No name to the lists of fame;
Thy home still stands by its winding shore,
But thy place by the hearth is known no more;
The evening fire on that hearth shines on,
But the light of thy mother's smile is gone

For a stranger bears her name-
And, bright though her smile and glance may be,
They're not like those that grew dim for thee."

“I know that my country's fame hath found

No rest by her storied streams ;
For cold is the chain for ages borne,
And deep is the track its weight hath worn!
The serf hath stood, in his fetters bound,
On hills that were Freedom's battle-ground ;
And my name is a long-forgotten sound

In the home of my thousand dreams ;-
For change bath passed o'er each household face,
And my mother's heart hath a resting-place
Where the years of her weary watch are past
For the step that so vainly comes at last.
But far there shines through the shadowy green

Of the laurels bending there,
One beckoning light--'tis the glancing sheen

Of a Grecian maiden's hair;



Alas, for the clouds that rose between

My gaze and one so fair!
Alas! for many a morning ray
That passed from life's misty hills away!"

So spake the Greek, but the tempter said —
“Why seek'st thou the flowers of summer fled ?-
The years that have made thy kindred strange,
Have they not breathed with the breath of change

On thine early chosen too?
They have bound the wealth of that flowing hair
They have crossed the brow with a shade of care;
For thy young and thy glad of heart hath grown
A matron, saddened in glance and tone-

From whose undreaming view
Life's early lights have fallen--and thou
Art a long-forgotten vision now."

There rose a cloud in his clear, dark eye,

Like the mist of coming tears
Yet it passed in silence, and there came
No after-voice from that perished dream;
But he said—“Is it so, my land ? Thou hast
No gift for thy wanderer but the past,
And a dream of a gathering trumpet's blast,

And a charge of Grecian spears !
That bright dream's promise ne'er may be-
But the earth hath banners broad and free;
There are gallant barks on the western wave-
And fields where a Greek may find a grave:
With a fearless arm, with a stainless brand,

With a young brow I depart
To seek the hosts of some Christian land-

But I go with an exile's heart,
Yet, oft when the strangers' fight is done,
And their shouts arise for the battle won,
This heart will dream what its joy might be
Were it won but for Greece and Liberty !”

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From its sources which well
In the tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains,
Its rills and its gills ;
Through moss and through brake,

It runs and it creeps,

For a while, till it sleeps
In its own little lake.
And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,
And through the wood-shelter,

Among crags in its flurry,


Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling ;
Now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in,
Till, in this rapid race,

On which it is bent,
It reaches the place

Of its steep descent.

The cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging,

As if a war waging,
Its caverns and rocks among;



Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Turning and twisting,
Around and around
With endless rebound;
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in,

Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound:

Collecting, projecting,
Receding, and speeding,
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,
And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling,
And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning;



And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,

And clattering and battering and shattering;
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brusbing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar :
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.



HY is the Forum crowded ? What means this stir in

Rome?" “ Claimed as a slave, a free-born maid is dragged here from her

home. On fair Virginia Claudius has cast his eye of blight; The tyrant's creature, Marcus, asserts an owner's right,

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