LINES. WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY OF LONDON, WHEN MET TO COMMEMORATE THE 21ST OF MARCH, THE DAY OF VICTORY IN EGYPT. PLEDGE to the much-loved land that gave us birth! Pledge to the memory of her parted worth! And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore! And be it deemed not wrong that name to give, In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh! Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal, Rose on the flames of victory to Heaven! How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn Peace to the mighty dead! our bosom thanks Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled, Dear symbol wild! on Freedom's hills it grows, Where Fingal stemmed the tyrants of the world, And Roman eagles found unconquered foes. Joy to the band this day on Egypt's coast, Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand, First of Britannia's host her Highland band Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost closed! Is there a son of generous England here Or fervid Erin?he with us shall join, To pray that in eternal union dear The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine! Types of a race who shall the invader scorn, As rocks resist the billows round their shore; Types of a race who shall to time unborn STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THE SPANISH PATRIOTS LATEST KILLED IN RESIS.ING THE REGENCY AND THE DUKE OF ANGOULÊME. BRAVE men who at the Trocadero fell Beside your cannons conquered not, though slain, There is a victory in dying well For Freedom, and ye have not died in vain; For, come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain *The 42d Regiment. To honor, ay, embrace your martyred lot, And looking on your graves, though trophied not, As holier hallowed ground than priests could make the spot! In dungeons-dragged to death, or forced to flee! The patriot's blood 's the seed of Freedom's tree; Earth shudders at your victory,- for ye Are worse than common fiends from Heaven that fell, Go to your bloody rites again— bring back No eye may search-no tongue may challenge or reveal! Yet laugh not in your carnival of crime Too proudly, ye oppressors!- Spain was free, - From Persecution-show her mask off-torn, And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn. Glory to them that die in this great cause! Still in your prostrate land there shall be some SONG OF THE GREEKS. AGAIN to the battle, Achaians! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance! Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free: The pale, dying crescent is daunted, And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's slaves May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves. Their spirits are hovering o'er us, And the sword shall to glory restore us. Ah! what though no succor advances, Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances Are stretched in our aid-be the combat our own! And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone! For we've sworn by our country's assaulters, Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. A breath of submission we breathe not; The sword that we 've drawn we will sheathe not! If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves; To the charge! - Heaven's banner is o'er us. Or brighten your lives with its glory. Our women, O, say, shall they shriek in despair, Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair? Accursed may his memory blacken, If a coward there be that would slacken Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth. Strike home, and the world shall revere us As heroes descended from heroes. Old Greece lightens up with emotion Her inlands, her isles of the ocean; Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring, And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's spring: |