A loftier Argo cleaves the main, Oh, write no more the tale of Troy, Although a subtler Sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew. 24 Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendour of its prime; And leave, if naught so bright may live, Saturn and Love their long repose Shall burst, more bright and good Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, Oh, cease! must hate and death return? 30 36 1822. Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy. The world is weary of the past, Oh, might it die or rest at last! 42 Percy Bysshe Shelley. "HARP OF THE NORTH, FAREWELL!" HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Through secret woes the world has never 9 known, When on the weary night dawned wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.= That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own. Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 'T is now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring 18 Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell; And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spellAnd now, 't is silent all!-Enchantress, fare thee well! 1810. Sir Walter Scott. 27 TO THE MUSES WHETHER on Ida's shady brow, Whether in heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air Where the melodious winds have birth; J Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea, 8 1783. Wandering in many a coral grove; 12 How have you left the ancient love "THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS" THE harp that once through Tara's halls Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord alone, that breaks at night, Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, 8 16 1807. Thomas Moore. THE LOST LEADER JUST for a handful of silver he left us, We that had lov'd him so, follow'd him, honor'd him, Liv'd in his mild and magnificent eye, Learn'd his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us,-they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, -He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! 16 We shall march prospering,-not thro' his presence; Songs may inspirit us,-not from his lyre; |