ON HEARING OF COLERIDGE'S DEATH.
Oft have I watch'd in meditative mood,
A sunbeam travel over hill and dell,
Now searching the deep valley—now it fell
With gorgeous colouring on some ancient wood,
Or gleam'd on mountain tarn—its silver flood
Bathed every cottage in the lowly vale.
The brook once dark amidst the willows grey,
Danced in its beams, and beauties dimly seen,
Were lighted into being by that ray-
The glory ceas'd as if it ne'er had been !
But in the heart it cannot pass away,
There it is immortal! COLERIDGE, friend of Truth,
Thus do I think of thee, with “feelings keen,
And passions strong,” thou sunbeam of my youth!
NIGEL Loyd.
THEY stood when all their kin had fled,
Majestic and alone,
Upon the awful field of dead,
'Gainst haughty Macedon.
Brothers by every holy breath,
They stood amidst the storm of death,
A wall of adamant;
With gory blade and battered targe,
Amid the whirlwind of the charge,
And neither swerved nor bent.
A thousand dreams were flashing o'er
Their bosoms in that hour ;
They thought on Hellespont's fair shore;
When Persia's mighty power
Fell 'neath their Father's crimson steel;
And they, their children,-could they kneel
On the lov'd clime that bore
The men, whose hands had rent in twain
The proud Barbarian's galling chain
And washed their wrongs with gore ?
No-no—of happier times the thought
Broke on their visions; then
They saw their country's banners float,
O'er yet unconquered men.
Yes, Pericles-Leonidas,
And Marathon, and Salamis,
With proud Thermopolæ,
Flashed on their souls; and as they stood,
They felt their hearts still held that blood,
Which set their country free.
Like the three hundred fearless men,
Who met a million slaves ;
And made that long remembered glen,
A pyramid of graves,—
The Theban sacred phalanx knelt,
And prayed to heaven—the fire they felt
Was such as nerved the brave. Then each unsheathed his faithful brand, And swore to free their father's land,
Or make that spot their grave.
On came the foe; like Etna's flame,
A cloud of fearful light,
God of the living—be with them
Who strike for home and right;
On came the foe like ocean's stroke,
Upon the everlasting rock,
Which meets its flashing spray,
And in its lone sublimity,
Dashes the wild floods to the sky,
In mist that bloats the day.
So met that still unconquered band,
And fiercely trampled down, The spoilers of their father's land ;
But ah !_their friends have flown, Oh Athens—Sparta–where are ye? Your sires would not have left the free.
Turn_Turn and strike again, Think of your old renown and turn; While yet the warriors' bosoms burn,
But ah! the cry is vain.
They fled,—yet still the Theban few,
Disdained to leave the field,
But each where first his sword he drew,
Expired upon his shield.
They lay as they had met the foe,
Line over line-a glorious row,
Whose souls had scorned to bow,
But nobly battled to the last,
And died when every hope was past,
With helmet on each brow.
'Tis done—the best of Greece lie slain,
Their star has set in gloom;
Chæronæa, on thy fatal plain,
Fair Freedom found a tomb. The night of death and darkness fell, And Slav'ry walked with demon yell,
Athwart a beauteous land ; For never in the battle hour, Did weeping Greece behold up-tower,
Another Sacred Band.
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