67(^ ANNUAL REGISTER, 1814. 



Empires have fallen, yet art thou unchanged ; 



And Destiny, whose tide engulphs proud man. 



Has roU'd his harmless billows at thy base. 



Thy youth beheld thy country's fame, thine age 



Beholds her agony ; warriors have sought 



Thy sacred walls, and 'gainst these columns rear'd 



Their blood-stain'd lances, whilst they swell'd the hymrt 



Of victory ; and now the abject Greek 



Sighs on thy steps his superstitious pray'r. 



Thou art the chronicle of ages past, 



The lasting testimony ; let me call 



The spirit that resides within thy stones. 



And it will tell me an appalling tale 



Of rapine, and convulsion, and dire war, 



Which thou hast witness'd. Mighty monument ! 



He who first rear'd thy frame, believed perchance 



He raised thee for a few short years, a point 



In the vast circle of eternity ; 



Nor did he dream that thou should'st be the pledge 



Of Grecian genius to the numberless 



Myriads unborn, and that beneath thy walls 



Children of nations then unknown to fame. 



The Gaul, the Briton, and the frozen son 



Of polar regions, should together meet. 



And on thy pure unsullied glories gaze. 



THE CALLING OF THE CLANS. 1745. 



From the Novel of Waverley. 



Mist darkens the mountain, night darkens the vale» 

 But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael ; 

 A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land, 

 It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand ! 



The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 

 The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust j 

 On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear. 

 It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 



The deeds of our sires if a bard should rehearse. 

 Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 

 Be mute every siring and be hush'd every tone. 

 That shall b'd us remember the fame that is gone. 



