Along the spangling snow.

These tracks of blood,

Even to the forest depth, and scattered arms,

And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments

Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path

Of the outsallying victors: far behind.

Black ashes note where their proud city stood.

Within yon forest is a gloomy glen;

Each tree which guards its darkness from the day,
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb!

DEGENERACY OF GREECE.

LORD BYRON.

The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,-
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
except their sun, is set.

But all,

The mountains look on Marathon,

And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,

I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

A king sat on the rocky brow,

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,

And men and nations all were his!

He counted them at break of day,—
And when the sun set, where were they?

And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now

The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave;
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame.

Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush,- for Greece a tear!

Must we but weep o'er days more blessed?
Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled;
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three
To make a new Thermopyla!

What! silent still? and silent all?

Ah! no; the voices of the dead

Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise we come, we come!"

'Tis but the living who are dumb.

NOTE. It has not been thought necessary, by multiplying pieces for recitation or declamation, to make ours a voluminous Speaker. There are many others published, containing a great variety of Exercises, and nothing else; to which we refer our young friends.

PART VI.

GYMNASTICS AND CALISTHENICS.