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!

For the cross of our faith is replanted,

The pale dying crescent is daunted;

[slaves

And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's May be wash'd out in blood from our forefather's

Their spirits are hovering o'er us,

And the sword shall to glory restore us.

Ah! what though no succour advances,
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances

[graves.

Are stretch'd 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,
By the virgins they've dragg'd from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That living, we shall be victorious!
Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious!
A breath of submission we breathe not;

The sword that we've drawn we will sheath not;
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us;
But they shall not to slavery doom us:
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves;
But we've smote them already with fire on the

waves,

And new triumphs on land are before us.
To the charge! Heaven's banner is o'er us.

This day shall we blush for its story,

Or brighten our lives with its glory!

[spair,

Our women-Oh, say, shall they shriek in deOr embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their

Accursed may his memory blacken,

[hair?

If a coward there be that would slacken,
Till we've trampled the turban, and shown our-

selves worth

[earth.

Being sprung from, and named for, the godlike of
Strike home-and the world shall revere us
As heroes descended from heroes.

[ring,

Old Greece lightens up with emotion
Her islands, her isles of the ocean;
Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns shall with jubilee
And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's
Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness, [spring.
That were cold and extinguish'd in sadness;
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white

waving arms,

Singing joy to the brave that deliver'd their charms,
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
Shall have crimson'd the beak of our ravens!

CAMPBELL.

CHEROKEE DEATH SONG.

THE Sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away; Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in vain, For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low: Why so slow? Do you wait till I shrink from the

pain?

No, the son of Alknomook will never complain. Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation

away

Now the fire rises fast, you exult in my pain,
But the son of Alknomook can never complain.

I go to the land where my father is gone,
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son;
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain,
And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to com-

plain.

MRS. HUNTER.

ILLINOIS DEATH SONG.

REAR'D midst the war-empurpled plain,
What Illinois submits to pain!
How can the glory-darting fire
The coward chill of death inspire!

The sun a blazing heat bestows,
The moon midst pensive evening glows,
The stars in sparkling beauty shine,
And own their flaming source divine.

Then let me hail the' immortal fire,
And in the sacred flames expire;
Nor yet those Huron hands restrain;
This bosom scorns the throbs of pain,

No griefs this warrior soul can bow,
No pangs contract this even brow;
Not all your threats excite a fear,
Not all your force can start a tear.

Think not with me my tribe decays,
More glorious chiefs the hatchet raise;
Nor unrevenged their Sachem dies,
Nor unattended greets the skies.

MRS. MORTON.

A MAROON SONG.

HASTE, haste, my companions! the night dews [are flown;

are o'er;

From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the [groan.

boar,

And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his O'er the deep tangled thicket our toils shall prevail, In vain to the steep cliff the savage shall run; Where the cocoa waves gay to the balm-scented

gale,

And the aloe expands its tall spires to the sun. Ye spirits that triumph'd in death o'er your foe, But left the dark sons of your race to complain; Ye that bade, in your anguish, the heirs of your woe Be the heirs of your hatred, the chiefs of disdain; If ye sail in your pride on the sun's slanting beam, If ye robe your stern shades in the mist's fleeting form;

Or if rather ye joy in the lightning's fierce gleam, And stride on the whirlwind, and trample the storm;

O, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave, To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the

brave,

And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger away, [pass'd, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around [blast.

us their sway, We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews

are o'er;

[are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the

boar,

[groan.

And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his

P. M. JAMES.

SONG TO ZEPHYR.

ZEPHYR! whither are you straying,

Tell me where?

With prankish girls in gardens playing,

False as fair?

A butterfly's light back bestriding,
Queen bees to honeysuckles guiding,
Or in a swinging harebell riding,

Free from care?

Before Aurora's car you amble

High in air;

At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol,
Braid their hair;