POETRY. 573 



Till on the mountain breeze's winp:, 



The shout of war thy landsturni fling ; 



And gleams in myriad hands the sword, 



So deep in old Invasion gored. 



God is the guide ! — thro' woe, thro' fear. 



Rushes his chariot's high career; 



God is the guide — thro' night, thro' storm, 



Speeds his resistless Angel's form ; 



And red in many a doubtful fight. 



Our fathers' swords carved out their right. 



And still thro' field, and fire, and flood. 



We'll seal the proud bequest with blood, 



And give our babes the boon they gave, — 



The glory of a Freeman's grave. 



Bring, spirit, bring the splendid day. 



That sees our ancient banners play : 



Then shall be heard the trumpet-tone. 



Where all is silent now, and lone : 



From forest deep, from unsunn'd vale. 



Shall gleam the sudden flash of mail ; 



Sudden aloug the grey hill's side 



Shall proud and patriot squadrons ride; 



Keen as his mountain eagle, there 



Shall bound the fatal tirailleur ; 



There, swift as wind, the dark hussar 



Wheel his broad sabre for the war ; 



And mountain nook and cavern'd glen 



Give up their hosts of marshal'd men. 



Then, Form of Love ! no longer sleep : 

 Thine be it on the gale to sweep. 

 With Seraph smile, with Seraph power. 

 To lighten on our gloomy hour. 

 To bid the fainting land be wise 

 With wisdom from thy native skies ; 

 Give the strong heart, the hero-will. 

 Angel ! and yet protectress still. 



FROM GREECE, A POEM BY WM. HAYGARTH, ESQ. 



And lo ! he comes, the modern son of Greece, 

 The bhame of Athens ; mark him how he bears 

 A look o'eraw'd and moulded to the stamp 

 Of servitude. The ready smile, the shrug 

 Submissive, the low cringing bow, which waits 

 Th' imperious order, and the supple knee 



