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The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival

With a biographical sketch
Percival, James Gates (1795-1856)

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VOL. I.
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VOL. II.
  
PROMETHEUS.
  
THE MIND.
  
THE SUICIDE.
  
THE WRECK.
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THE DREAM OF A DAY, AND OTHER POEMS. FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1843.
  
THE DREAM OF A DAY.
  
GENIUS WAKING.
  
TO THE EAGLE.
  
SENECA LAKE.
  
LAYS OF THE SEASONS.
  
THE LIGHT GUITAR.
  
THE VINTAGE DANCE.
  
SONG.
  
SONG.
  
TO A BUTTERFLY.
  
THE VOICE OF NATURE.
  
SONG.
  
SONG.
  
SAPPHO.
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SONNETS.
  
THE CONTRAST.
  
BALLAD.
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SONGS.
  
GREEK APPEAL TO AMERICA.
  
OUR FLAG.
  
SPRING.
  
YOUTH RECALLED.
  
A VISION.
  
THE POET'S WORLD.
  
MINNESONG.
  
THE KNIGHT.
  
LIFE'S DREAM.
  
THE HEXLI. (LITTLE WITCH.)
  
THE MAIDEN.
  
THE POWER OF SONG.
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LAYS.
 1. 
[I. Mellow fades the glow of even]
 2. 
[II. Hark! the song]
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[III. Through the wood, in evening's shadow, straying]
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[IV. Speed thee far]
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[V. O that I lay on yonder mountain]
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[VI. They call me,—they call me, from meadow and grove]
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[VII. “O, rest thee here in silent bower]
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[VIII. The song is still, that over heath and mountain]
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[IX. Night is on the hill]
 10. 
[X. Bells are ringing]
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[XI. The snow is gone]
 12. 
[XII. Give me that fond music]
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[XIII. Morning is lightest]
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[XIV. 'T is dawn]
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[XV. Joy! Joy!]
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[XVI. Faintly breathes the maiden's song]
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[XVII. In sheeted gold the river glides]
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[XVIII. Sitting by a meadow brook]
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[XIX. How gentle the water's motion]
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[XX. The night is still:—on meadow and silvery fountain]
 21. 
[XXI. Over hill and plain and mountain]
 22. 
[XXII. From rock rebounding]
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SLAVONIA.
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TEUTONIA.
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SONGS
  
THE SISTER SPIRITS.
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CLASSIC MELODIES.
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SONGS FOR NATIONAL AIRS.
  
THE NORNS.
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POSTHUMOUS POEMS.
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JUVENILE POEMS.

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[II. Not the trumpet calls to fight]

“Och wy Ruskïe dobrye molodcy!
Nadiewayte wy sabli wostryia,
Czto idet zlodiey na swiatuju Rus.”—
Shulepnikov. “Hey, brave Russian youths!
Gird your swords so keen,
For your holy land the foe invades.”

Not the trumpet calls to fight,—
Louder calls the patriot Tzar.
Strongly armed with sword and right,
We rush to war.
Treads the Frank our holy land,
By the world-invader led,—
Soon we make the ruffian band
Its gory bed.
Moscow's fire, an altar-flame,
Lights us through a waste of snow;
On, through ice, we chase the game
With fervid glow.
Louder than the trumpet's peal,
Rings the voice of patriot Tzar;—
With fiery hearts and flashing steel,
We rush to war.
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