THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR. GATHER him to his grave again, The warrior's scattered bones away. Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. The soul hath quickened every part— For he was fresher from the hand That formed of earth the human face, And to the elements did stand In nearer kindred than our race. THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR. In many a flood to madness tossed, In many a storm has been his path; He hid him not from heat or frost, But met them, and defied their wrath. Then they were kind-the forests here, A tribute to the net and spear Of the red ruler of the shade. A noble race! but they are gone, 173 THE GREEK BOY. GONE are the glorious Greeks of old, Their bones are mingled with the mould, The forms they hewed from living stone, And scattered with their ashes, show Yet fresh the myrtles there-the springs Gush brightly as of yore; Flowers blossom from the dust of kings, There nature moulds as nobly now, And copies still the martial form That braved Platea's battle storm. Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek Their Heaven in Hellas' skies; Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek, Her sunshine lit thine eyes; THE GREEK BOY. Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains Heard by old poets, and thy veins That slumber in thy country's sods. Now is thy nation free-though late→→ Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight, And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see The nations silent in its shade. 175 "UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD." UPON the mountain's distant head, With trackless snows forever white, But far below those icy rocks, The vales, in summer bloom arrayed, Are dim with mist and dark with shade. 'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts But lingers with the cold and stern. |