and frats of love are gone;

The worm, the ceanker, and the grief;

Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys

Is lone as some voleanle lsle;

No torch is kindled at its blaze——

A funeral pile!

The hope, the fear, the jealous care

The exalted portion of the pain

And power of love, I cannot share,

But wear the chain.

But'tis not thus-and'tis not here

Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now,

Where glory decks thd hero's bier

Or binds his brow.

The sword，the banner, and the field,

Glory and Grace, around me see!

The Spartan，born upon his shield,

Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece-she is awake!)

Awake, my spirit! Think through whom

The life-blood tracks its parent lake,

And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down;

Unworthy manhood！-unto thee

Indifferent should the smile or frown

Of beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy youth, why live;

The land of honorable death

Is here: -up to the field, and give

Awat thy breath！

Seek out-less sought than found-

A dier&