Juvenilia or, A collection of poems. Written between the ages of twelve and seventeen, by J. H. L. Hunt ... Fourth Edition |
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VALOUR.
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 | Juvenilia |  |
VALOUR.
When Valour, fearless maid, was born,
She wander'd friendless and forlorn;
Till once, in Greece, when first it rose
Superior to its neighb'ring foes:
She saw in ev'ry eye a fire,
Which none but Valour could inspire,
And pleas'd to find it all her own,
In Sparta first she rais'd her throne.
She wander'd friendless and forlorn;
Till once, in Greece, when first it rose
Superior to its neighb'ring foes:
She saw in ev'ry eye a fire,
Which none but Valour could inspire,
And pleas'd to find it all her own,
In Sparta first she rais'd her throne.
'Twas Valour taught the art of war,
To throw the lance, and drive the car;
'Twas Valour ev'ry bosom fir'd,
Fill'd high with courage, warm'd, inspir'd,
Taught the bold warrior how to die,
And bade the vanquish'd scorn to fly;
Gave to her fav'rite Greece the sway,
And bade each circling shore obey.
To throw the lance, and drive the car;
'Twas Valour ev'ry bosom fir'd,
Fill'd high with courage, warm'd, inspir'd,
Taught the bold warrior how to die,
And bade the vanquish'd scorn to fly;
Gave to her fav'rite Greece the sway,
And bade each circling shore obey.
105
Each state its hero then could boast,
The king and guardian of its coast;
And Argos saw her children brave
The terrors of the foaming wave;
E'en gods were jealous at the sight,
And crowded on th' Olympian height;
And when the Colchian prize was won,
They snatch'd above each Argive son.
The king and guardian of its coast;
And Argos saw her children brave
The terrors of the foaming wave;
E'en gods were jealous at the sight,
And crowded on th' Olympian height;
And when the Colchian prize was won,
They snatch'd above each Argive son.
From ancestors renown'd as these,
Who neither sought nor sunk to ease,
An hardy race of heroes rose,
Alike regardless of repose;
And Persia's sons beheld the day,
When on Platæa's plains they lay;
And saw, and saw alone to mourn,
The laurel from their temples torn.
Who neither sought nor sunk to ease,
An hardy race of heroes rose,
Alike regardless of repose;
And Persia's sons beheld the day,
When on Platæa's plains they lay;
And saw, and saw alone to mourn,
The laurel from their temples torn.
On Mycale's sea-circled shore,
Again they heard the battle roar;
Unnerv'd to fight, afraid to die,
Again the Persian turn'd to fly.
Then Xerxes rose, and left behind
His millions, but a grave to find;
And while the coward monarch fled,
Greece rent the turban from his head.
Again they heard the battle roar;
Unnerv'd to fight, afraid to die,
Again the Persian turn'd to fly.
Then Xerxes rose, and left behind
His millions, but a grave to find;
And while the coward monarch fled,
Greece rent the turban from his head.
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Ah! lost to all her patriot fame,
Where now is Grecia's glorious name!
—'Tis fled;—and Sparta's hardy race
Shew but a female's languid face.
Their bosom now no ardour fires,
No courage warms, no zeal inspires;
And Valour's self, to roam no more,
Has come to Albion's white cliff'd shore.
Where now is Grecia's glorious name!
—'Tis fled;—and Sparta's hardy race
Shew but a female's languid face.
Their bosom now no ardour fires,
No courage warms, no zeal inspires;
And Valour's self, to roam no more,
Has come to Albion's white cliff'd shore.
| Juvenilia | |