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"Wake then to War! for such the meeds "That crown, by Rutren drest, the youth that bleeds, "And such the sacred wreaths that glory gives "The patriot-youth that fights and lives: "Wake then to war! your fathers' spirits cry, "Your Country's Genius calls to triumph or to die." The magic works-the pow'rful strain Thrills in every breathing vein.

I see, I see the life-blood, mantling high,
Glow in each cheek, and revel warın
In ev'ry heart-I know the master-charm
That bids your bloody banners fly
Unfolded to the ambient sky,

With eager force that fires th' enthusiast band,
And * maddens ev'ry spear in ev'ry martial hand.

"Tis Liberty that leads you on,
Around her sovereign form await,
Attendant on her awful throne

The arbiters of Fate.

Revenge of talon fell, of haughty name Courage, and lusty Force, and Glory's sacred flame.

THE SONG OF VICTORY.

ODE V.

Ye Spirits of our fathers slain!

Who lately breath'd your thrilling words around;
Thou Genius of the Indian plain!

That hauntest still thy Oglu's favour'd ground;
And thou, stern + God of mightiest power!

For lately, at the deathful hour,

* Δοξυ μαίνεται εν παλάμησι. 10Μ.

↑ Rutren.

When with her troubled eyes, and streaming hair,
Fury, the fiend, stalk'd o'er the bloody field,
Thou, thou didst send our warrior-chief, Despair,
Who, rushing with our legions mad
That scorn'd to lift the saviour-shield,
With haughty arm and hasty tread,
To Victory soon and purple Glory led:
If such your gifts, to you by right belong
The Warrior's votive spear, the Poet's sacred song.

Weep not, ye virgins, tho' around

The Lover's blood embathe your native ground!
Now let no private and no partial tear
Unseemly steal adown the matron's cheek!
The murder'd husband, or young hero dear
Shall in some future hour bespeak

Th' embalming dew which Love and Pity shed:
But now let Hindvar's widow'd plain
Lament the foul inglorious stain

That marks her abject sons, whom haggard fear
Led from the wrath and spirit of the spear:
Now let her count her heroes dead,
Then veil in Sorrow's vest her head,
Haughty no more! her tow'ring pride
And giant strength are gone, for ever gone.
Hear it thou Genius of our native plains,
With pleasure hear! her pride no more remains,
Her strength is lost-O hear her coward moan!
On her torn bosom now no more abide

The souls of war. Now shall she view around,
While recent memory feeds her anguish'd sight,
And the keen pow'r of shame re-animates her fright,
Where sad Defeat and Death have mark'd her hostile

ground.

Now let her weep-a better task
Ye matrons hoar, and virgins fair shall ask

Your prompted pow'rs-The Warrior's praise
Demands your noblest and your sweetest lays;
Your country's triumph calls the answering strain,
O let the sounds of Joy re-echo to the plain!
Hark! in accents loud and clear,
Stealing on th' entranced ear,
Thrills around the rapt'rous strain;
Now on Love and Pleasure dwelling,
Now with joy and triumph swelling,
"We have fought and we have slain."
The song shall sooth the Warrior's mind,
On th' inverted spear reclin'd,

To all the milder thoughts that move, And melt the purer soul to love; But mark, while martial notes around Lap the soul in magic sound, The Warrior's eye, by Fancy led, Views the field with foes bespread ; His ear imbibes, with horror, nigh The dying shriek, the conquering cry; His hand, again alarm'd by Fear, Bends the bow, and grasps the spear: But ah! the while there breathes a solemn air, The captive croud stand mute, the statues of despair. O let them drink the sullen sound! With many a fatal garland bound; And let the holy Bramins come, And lead them to the deadly dome Where Rutren's sacred altar stands ; And there, when 'round the captive bands With curses climb the funeral fire, And while their victim souls expire,

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,
The 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;
Nor 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 wav'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 heats 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 heart,
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.

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