Yet exult not, haughty foe, Strains of war let clarions sing, Freedom now revives, though late; Mid the din of mortal harms, When the final debt is paid. Still the foe, possess'd with dread, Shall confess A MAN lies dead: Valiant Helots, never yield Follow, follow to the field! God of Armies, hear! PRESTON. SONG OF THE GREEKS. AGAIN to the battle, Achaians! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance; Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree- [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, [graves. And the sword shall to glory restore us. Ah! what though no succour advances, Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances Are stretch'd in our aid-be the combat our own! 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, [spair, Our women- [hair? If a coward there be that would slacken, Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves 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 Singing joy to the brave that deliver'd their charms, 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, MRS. HUNTER. ILLINOIS DEATH SONG. REAR'D midst the war-empurpled plain, How can the glory-darting fire The sun a blazing heat bestows, Then let me hail the' immortal fire, No griefs this warrior soul can bow, MRS. MORTON. A MAROON SONG. are o'er ; HASTE, haste, my companions! the night dews [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 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; |