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Our song in mockery of their state,
(Such vengeance on our foes await)
Shall echo to the captive train,
“ We have fought, and we have slain.”
We have fought, and we have slain ;
The bow of strength, the spear of fate,
Have left upon the hostile plain,
Many a head in gory state;
And many a hero's blood around
Streaming on the thirsty ground;
The noblest, choicest, best bequeath
In vengeance for our fathers' death.
Their sainted spirits, hov'ring nigh,
T'he dear revenge may joyous spy;
And from their

hallow'd hall descending,
O'er the mangled corses bending,
Deride the purple stream that flows,
Th'accursed gore of warrior-foes.
Descend ! descend ! for they are slain,
They have bit the fatal ground,
They, whose fathers on the plain
Gor'd you deep, with many a wound.
Descend ! descend! your Sons shall prove
Their lineal courage on the field;
Nur shall our Maids in faithful love
To all your boasted matrons yield.
And see, the laughing Nymphs prepare
The sacred wreaths of glory fair ;
And see the Warrior's hallow'd head
With many a laurel leaf bespread.
The groves and genial shades among,
Answering to the joyful song,
The dance the mingled troop shall lead ;
Or as they trip it on the meed,

Rise, Echo ! tell it to the plain,
“ We have fought, and we have slain."

THE SONG OF DEFEAT AND CAPTIVITY.

ODE VI. Now when the God his way’ring light withdrew And darker shades were doubled to the view, Loose from the martial labours of the day, Around their nightly fires the conquerors lay. By painful march, by sultry beats opprest, They woo'd the balmy dews of genial rest: Rapt joy was theirs, and strains triumphant rung From sacred shells, the neighbouring groves among. But, mid' these sweetest sounds of dear delight, The hand of glory pointed to their sight A dreary cave, by darkling shades o'erbrow'd, The seat of sorrow, and the captive crowd; Where, rankling in the glooms accurs’d, remain Lost by defeat, and mark'd by vengeful pain, The warrior-slaves that, fir'd by furies, wait The long keen horrors of a coming fate; And there, while 'round the savage guards reclin’d, The darkest Dæmons of the troubled mind Added new tortures to their servile chains, Play'd with their wounds, and doubly edg’d their pains. Thus while they labour'd with the anguish'd smart, As shame or passion wrung the conscious heurt, While on the cavern's rude and shaggy brow The night-bird scream'd, and mock'd the notes below, Here breath'd the settled sounds of deep despair, And rav'd the din of madd’ning fury there; Grief's deaden'd Voice, and Terror's shriller cry Gave their wild echoes to the murm'ring sky,

And thus while 'round the various accents brokc,
In louder tone a lip of sorrow spoke.

“ Farewell! for ever now farewell,
" Where

my fond soul once joy’d to rove!
*** Ye fields ! where gentlest pleasures dwell,
" And O ye seats of happiest Love !

Each genial grove, each haunted stream
“ Nurse of my song, and of my song the theme,

“ Farewell !-0 ye no more are mine,
“ The tortring chains your ruin'd Lord confine !

“ No more with free step shall I tread
" The smooth Savannah's velvet green;
« The Loves and Pleasures all are fled

66 That bore me to the blissful scene.
“ All, all are fled! oh sad and heavy loss !
“ And Zara weeps, unpitied and unknown;
“ Shall tears and griefs my Zara's soul engross?
“ O she was form’d for love and love alone.

“ Now haply shall the dear maid roam,
“ Her check distain'd with many a tear,
" That cheek where Beauty's choicest bloom

" Lent lustre to the soul sincere.
“ She now shall roam, dear mindful maid,
“ The lone vales wild, the dreary woods among,
“And court, with sorrowing step, the deepest shade;

" Or at the ev’ning hour,
“ Beneath the cypress

bow'r,
« Pour, all reclin'd, her sweetest saddest song;

“And there to weeping maids relate

" The mournful stories of our fate: “ But ah, no art shall move her stubborn grief, " The maids shall tell- but vain the tried relief

.

care

« How oft in yonder wood
" My hand the shaggy forms subdued ;

'Or in the wild waves nigh
My little bark outbray'd the angry sky;
“ And she herself, the sorrowing Nymph, shall tell

“ How oft beneath mine arm have bled “ The savage troop, and how the warrior fell, And join'd with yelling groan the nations of the dead.

“ But hence the light and trifling strain !

“ The listless voice of praise how vain! “ For now what boots it that

my

martial “ Form’d her brave youths, and gave them to the war?

" What boots it now? for me remains
A death inglorious, or the servile chains,

“ Me, who can boast my spear “ Fix'd Malgru to his fate, and fill’d his sons with fear. “ And shall not the big sounds of war again Wake

my

fond heart, and shall my spear Leap to new life no more? Must dull Despair

“ Waste my sad length of hours away, “ Shut from the eye of Pleasure and the Day? “ Perish the thought, or to the wretch remove “ That dreams away the soul of life in vain! “ Whose heart ne'er felt the luxury of Love,

“ Nor fear'd of Infamy the pain. “ O cursed, cursed hour! when first my spear “ Fell faithless to its Lord. O cursed hour!

“When Vict’ry's spirit, hov’ring near, “ Fled from my call, and the sad courted power.

66 Of Death, unheedful to my cry, “ Lowr'd stern a sullen frown, and pass'd contemp

so tuous by.
“ Still let my foes encrease the galling chain,
“ The warrior's soul unfetter'd shall remain,

« Smile at each wound, each torture calmly bear, “ And only curse the cruel chance of war: “ Now let them lead me to the fires of fate, " Where round, in horrid shew, the furies wait, “ No lab'ring sigh my secret pain shall speak, “ No stealing tear disgrace my manlier cheek; “ Forbad to conquer, and forbad to bleed,

“ I ask but Death, and court no other meed. The warrior ceas'd—the Lord of Light again Stretch'd his proud ray along th’empurpled plain : Fell the sad sounds, tho' still to Pity's ear The murmuring winds the sorrowing accents bear; There the Muse caught her artless strains of woe, And bade them still in native measures flow; And there, tho' fate the warrior's brow had crown'd With baleful leaves, and wreath'd her cypress round, Firm to herself, and steady to the truth, The Muse, impartial, bless'd the hapless youth; She bade his name with their's inscrib'd to lie, That lov'd with Fame to live, that dar'd with Glory die.

THE DEATH SONG. .

ODE VII.
Hark to the loud and dismal sound !
That bursting from the glooms around,

Scattering wide the saddest fear,
Assaults, in troubled cry, the startling ear!
And now each short but dreary pause between,
From the deep bosom of the silent shade
What spiry flames with frequent force are seen,
Flashing their liveliest horrors on the glade?

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