 | Beauties of the mind, a poetical sketch |  |
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THE TEMPLE OF VICTORY.
“Spectandus in certamine martio,
Devota morti pectora liberæ
Quantis fatigaret ruinis;
Indomitas prope qualis undas.”
Horace.
Devota morti pectora liberæ
Quantis fatigaret ruinis;
Indomitas prope qualis undas.”
Horace.
I
The glorious spears of war,Gleam o'er the calm blue wave;
Voices and lutes afar,
Sing pæans to the brave:
Cittern, and lyre, and trumpet-strain,
Breathe of the red victorious plain!
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II
Wreath, wreath the laurel crown;Swell forth the glad acclaim;
Bid glory and renown
Record each valiant name:
The mighty ones who by your side,
For Hellas fought!—for Hellas died!
III
Fill, fill the banquet board,Your standards wave on high,
Chiefs of the shrine and sword!—
Brothers of victory!—
Bring forth the guerdon of your toil,—
The gold, the captives, and the spoil.
IV
Brightly and fast the wavesBear on the warriors now;
The tide in beauty laves,
Each tall barque's silver prow:
A myriad dashing oars sweep by,
And shouts of conquest shake the sky!
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V
Open your gates of brass,Ye temples!—and receive
The brave whose deeds surpass
What ages may achieve!
Pour on the consecrated shrine,
The offering bright of ruby wine.
VI
Upon your tablets traceIn characters of light,
Which time shall ne'er efface,
The victors of the fight!
Immortal be they on your page,—
Stars—which may light an after age!
VII
O! beautiful thou art,Land of my sires!—to me
Of heaven thou seem'st a part;—
A charm—a mystery
Broods o'er thy hills—thy pleasant bowers—
Thy vine-clad plains—thy leaves and flowers.
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VIII
Mother of heroes!—longMay valour guard thy breast,
Thou, terror of the strong!
Thou, shield of the opprest!—
Wither the tyrant's deadly hand,
That would enchain my native land!
IX
Evan Evohe!—Hear!—Thy noble patriots come:
They have brought golden cheer,
Riches, and triumph home!—
Sound, sound the tidings far and free,—
Evan Evohe!—Victory!
| Beauties of the mind, a poetical sketch | |