ADVANCE-Come forth from thy Tyrolean ground Dear Liberty!-stern nymph of soul untamed, Sweet nymph, Oh! rightly of the mountains named! Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound,- Like Echo, when the hunter-train at dawn Have roused her from her sleep and forest lawn, Cliffs, woods, and caves her viewless steps resound And babble of her pastime !-On, dread power, With such invisible motion speed thy flight,
Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height. Through the green vales and through the herdsman's
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE.
THE land we from our fathers had in trust, And to our children will transmit, or die : This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms-we must! We read the dictate in the infant's eye;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us.-Sing aloud Old songs, the precious music of the heart:
Give, herds and flocks! your voices to the wind! While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd, With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.
ALAS! what boots the long, laborious quest Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill, Or pains abstruse, to elevate the will, And lead us on to that transcendant rest Where every passion shall the sway attest Of Reason seated on her sovereign hill ;- What is it but a vain and curious skill, If sapient Germany must lie deprest, Beneath the brutal sword ?-Her haughty schools Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say, A few strong instincts and a few plain rules, Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought More for mankind at this unhappy day Than all the pride of intellect and thought.
AND is it among rude untutored dales, There, and there only, that the heart is true? And, rising to repel or to subdue,
Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails? Ah, no-though nature's dread protection fails There is a bulwark in the soul.-This knew Iberian Burghers when the sword they drew In Zaragoza, naked to the gales
Of fiercely-breathing war. The truth was felt By Palafox, and many a brave compeer, Like him of noble birth and noble mind; By ladies, meek-eyed woman without fear; And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt The bread which without industry they find.
HAIL, Zaragoza! if with unwet eye We can approach, thy sorrow to behold, Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold; Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh. These desolate remains are trophies high Of more than martial courage in the breast Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest Thy matchless worth to all posterity. Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse; Disease consumed thy vitals; war upheaved The ground beneath thee with volcanic force; Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained Till not a wreck of help or hope remained, And law was from necessity received.
SAY, what is Honour ?-Tis the finest sense Of justice which the human mind can frame, Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim, And guard the way of life from all offence Suffered or done. When lawless violence A kingdom doth assault, and in the scale Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail, Honour is hopeful elevation-whence Glory-and Triumph. Yet with politic skill Endangered states may yield to terms unjust, Stoop their proud heads-but not unto the dust,- A foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil! Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.
THE martial courage of a day is vain- An empty noise of death the battle's roar- If vital hope be wanting to restore,
Or fortitude be wanting to sustain,
Armies or kingdoms. We have heard a strain
Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore
A weight of hostile corses: drenched with gore
Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain. Yet see, the mighty tumult overpast,
Austria a daughter of her throne hath sold! And her Tyrolean champion we behold Murdered like one ashore by shipwreck cast, Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold, To think that such assurance can stand fast!
BRAVE Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest With heroes 'mid the Islands of the Blest, Or in the fields of empyrean light.
A meteor wert thou in a darksome night; Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime, Stand in the spacious firmament of time, Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right. Alas! it may not be for earthly fame Is fortune's frail dependant; yet there lives A judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives; To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim, Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;
In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.
CALL not the royal Swede unfortunate, Who never did to fortune bend the knee; Who slighted fear,-rejected stedfastly Temptation; and whose kingly name and state Have "perished by his choice, and not his fate!" Hence lives he, to his inner self endeared;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted potentate, Throned in the hearts of men.
Should Heaven ordain
That this great servant of a righteous cause
Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure, Yet may a sympathizing spirit pause,
Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain In thankful joy and gratulation pure.
LOOK now on that Adventurer who hath paid His vows to fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right, Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was made By the blind goddess;-ruthless, undismayed; And so hath gained at length a prosperous height, Round which the elements of wordly might Beneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid. O joyless power that stands by lawless force! Curses are his dire portion, scorn, and hate, Internal darkness and unquiet breath; And, if old judgments keep their sacred course, Him from that height shall Heaven precipitate By violent and ignominous death.
Is there a power that can sustain and cheer The captive Chieftain-by a tyrant's doom Forced to descend alive into his tomb,
A dungeon dark !—where he must waste the year, And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear; What time his injured country is a stage Whereon deliberate valour and the rage Of righteous vengeance side by side appear,- Filling from morn to night the heroic scene With deeds of hope and everlasting praise: Say can he think of this with mind serene And silent fetters ?-Yes, if visions bright Shine on his soul, reflected from the days When he himself was tried in open light.
AH! where is Palafox? Nor tongue nor pen Reports of him, his dwelling or his grave! Does yet the unheard-of vessel ride the wave? Or is she swallowed up-remote from ken Of pitying human nature? Once again Methinks that we shall hail thee, champion brave, Redeemed to baffle that imperial slave, And through all Europe cheer desponding men With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right. Hark, how thy country triumphs-Smilingly The Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams, Like His own lightning, over mountains high, On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.
IN due observance of an ancient rite, The rude Biscayans, when their children lie Dead in the sinless time of infancy, Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white; And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright, They bind the unoffending creature's brows With happy garlands of the pure white rose : This done, a festal company unite
In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne Uncovered to his grave.-Her piteous loss
The lonesome mother cannot choose but mourn; Yet soon by Christian faith is grief subdued, And joy attends upon her fortitude.
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