Yet, while it is no sacrilege to weep

O'er the low couch where heroes' ashes sleep,

The Muse would pause, and sink the heroic vein
Of votive eulogy to truth more plain-

Would pause to strip the veil aside, and gaze
Upon the picture in its darker phase,

And thus apostrophise that Moloch grim,
Whose altars red, with human life-streams, swim:-

Is this the guerdon, O destructive WAR!
That lures thy votaries to the plains afar?
Is it for this, Ambition would unsheath

The slaughtering sword? To reap the harvest-Death?
Is it for this, the youthful soldier strives?
For this, grey veterans devote their lives?
Can panegyrics, utter'd o'er the dead,
Rouse the dull ear-recal the spirit fled?
Can requiem, chaplet, cenotaph, and bust,
Soothe the pale Shade, or cheer the clay-cold dust?
The euphony, that gilds the Warrior's name,
Sounds sweetly from the silver trump of Fame,
And March, and War-song, of the poet's lyre,
Stir, in each breast, enthusiastic fire,
Wakening responsive chords, of kindred tone,
That thrill and vibrate, in prompt unison:
But there are echoes of a sadder kind,

And harsher cadence, with that name combined!

Imagination pictures forth, aghast,

The field of battle when the fight is past

The blood-the mangled forms the harrowing

eye

The fearful groan-the writhing agony!

E'en though, in Victory's arms, he met his doom,
The scene of triumph is o'ercast with gloom:
Though green the wreath upon his honour'd bier,
That wreath is tarnish'd with the widow's tear!
Though high the strain that blazons Glory's tale,
That strain is vocal with the orphan's wail!
The lofty pæan, changing to a dirge,

Proclaims thy ruffian deeds-infernal Scourge!
Thou baleful Meteor-glaring to betray!
Thou fiery Comet-Herald of Dismay!
Mask'd is thy baseness with a hollow smile,
Like garlands scatter'd o'er a funeral-pile:
Thy trophies are bleach'd corses-burning domes-
Hopes wreck'd-hearts broken-desolated homes!
In thy dread van, stalk Discord, Carnage, Fear;
And Riot, Rape, and Famine, close the rear!
Oh! for the time, when (Mars' stern empire o'er,)
Thy brazen clangours shall resound no more,
And groans of myriad lips for ever cease,
Quell'd by the Seraph voice and eye of Peace,
Whose snow-white banner, in the skies unfurl'd,
Shall wave-Hope's Ensign to a ruin'd World!

Yet shall it dawn-the day foretold by Fate— (Oppression, Wrong, and Rapine, have their date,)

The destined day-so long invoked in vain-
Era of Peace' restored Millennial reign;

Then shall the Olive bloom from shore to shore,
And nations learn the art of war no more.
Suns follow suns-on seasons seasons roll—
Old Time is verging towards the glorious goal,
Joy, o'er mankind, shall plume her rosy wing,
And Nature flourish in Eternal Spring,
Till Earth, reprieved from sanguinary Rage,
Resume the splendours of her Golden Age!

EPAMINONDAS.1

1.

How fresh appears, in Science' rays,
Fair History's Scroll of other days,
Through every age, in every clime,
Mid the grey wrecks of hoary Time;
Impress'd with lines whose vivid trace
Oblivion's wand shall ne'er efface!

(1) Epaminondas was perhaps the most illustrious hero of ancient Greece. A Theban, the son of Polymnus, of mean origin, he rose, by his talents and virtue, to the highest offices of the State. Being appointed General of the Theban army, he gained a signal victory over the Spartan forces commanded by Cleombrotus, at Leuctra, a small town in Boeotia.

In concert with his friend Pelopidas, he performed many other patriotic achievements; notwithstanding which, they were both arraigned for the crime of retaining the command too long. They were acquitted; but Epaminondas' enemies, in revenge, caused him to be elected the city-scavenger; which base post he condescended to fill, nobly exclaiming, "If the office can confer no honour on me, I will confer honour on the office." He closed his glorious career on the field of battle, and in the moment of victory. In a tremendous engagement fought by the Thebans against the Lacedæmonians, and other Greek powers, at Mantinea, (a city of Arcadia,) this illustrious General, urged on by his daring spirit into the midst of his enemies, received a fatal wound in the breast. He fell instantly, and a furious contest ensued between friends and foes, for the body of the wounded chief. The Thebans at last bore him off the field. Though in extreme agony, all his thoughts were for the success of his warriors; and, on being informed that they had conquered, he said, "Then all is well!" The surgeons declaring that the moment the dart was extracted, death would ensue, he wrenched it himself, and expired, A.D. 363. The glory of Thebes rose and declined with him.

2.

Ranged on her proud heraldic page,
Bard, warrior, orator, and sage,
Adorn'd with amaranthine wreath,
Unscathed by touch of Fate or Death,
In never-fading prime survive,
And, through the lapse of ages, live!

3.

Not like dim orbs of waning light—
Volcanic fires, soon quench'd in night-
Or billows of the rolling deep,

Whose foam-capp'd waters swell and sleep-
Or meteor-gleams, that melt away,-
Their record lasts-and lasts for aye!

4.

In arts or arms-in war or peace—
Foremost appear the sons of Greece;

And of the memorable band

Whose names illume that classic land

Whose deeds Fame's sacred Leaves embalm,

Epaminondas claims the palm.

5.

Sprung from Boeotia's sterile 1 earth—
(No friendly soil for Genius' birth—

(1) The Boeotians (unlike the inhabitants of the other States of Greece,) were generally remarkable for their dulness and stupidity.

G