 | Ephemeron |  |
Blind to that ye will not see!
Such a knot is severed only
By the hand unmeshed and free.
How thine Eagles, once unfurled
By the Men of fierce September,
Swept in triumph through the world?
Such the glory of a Name!
Freedom!—'tis a sound of magic.
Though to end in dust and shame.
Shall have died across the deep,
To your aid, in joy and wonder,
Shall a million swords outleap!
Echoed from surrounding lands,
In the clang of countless hammers
Forging fetters into brands.
Let it ring with vengeful force,
Where, in bloody, cold sepulture,
Lies Hungaria's mailéd corse.
From his grave shall start amain.
Of the West, shall lift again!
Long in fetters of the Foe!
That brave arm may yet be trusted
For a noble, trenchant blow.
With the grandeur once thine own—
In exultant earthquake shaken
From Calabria to the Rhone.
To Palermo's shattered wall,
Perjured crown and towered tiara
In resounding wreck shall fall.
Mother of the Mighty Dead!
Let yon grasping Sons of Edom
Tremble at thine arméd tread—
Hurling Hun and Vandal forth,
As of yore, into the regions
Of their savage native North.
See the very extraordinary report of a surgical and military commission, made about a century since, on the subject of Vampyrism in Hungary or some province adjacent—(many of the victims, I remember, were “hey dukes.)” The so-called Vampyres, it would appear, were buried alive, in a state of epidemic trance, and their neighbors complained of being grievously haunted by their appearances. A number of them were exhumed, (some after a burial of many weeks,) and exhibited signs of life, in fresh blood at the lips, and in cries and groans, when their heads were cut off, or when a stake was driven through them, as they revived. The Anglo-French alliance seems desirous of pursuing a similar course of treatment toward any revival of Hungarian nationality. Vide Lord Palmerston's remarks on the subject, and the general attitude of the two governments, and of the presses of their respective capitals.
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