"Smile at each wound, each torture calmly bear, "And only curse the cruel chance of war: "Now let them lead me to the fires of fate, "Where round, in horrid shew, the furies wait, "No lab'ring sigh my secret pain shall speak, "No stealing tear disgrace my manlier cheek; "Forbad to conquer, and forbad to bleed,

"I ask but Death, and court no other meed.

The warrior ceas'd-the Lord of Light again
Stretch'd his proud ray along th' empurpled plain:
Fell the sad sounds, tho' still to Pity's ear
The murmuring winds the sorrowing accents bear;
There the Muse caught her artless strains of woe,
And bade them still in native measures flow;
And there, tho' fate the warrior's brow had crown'd
With baleful leaves, and wreath'd her cypress round,
Firm to herself, and steady to the truth,

The Muse, impartial, bless'd the hapless youth;
She bade his name with their's inscrib'd to lie,

That lov'd with Fame to live, that dar'd with Glory die.

THE DEATH SONG.

ODE VII.

HARK to the loud and dismal sound!
That bursting from the glooms around,
Scattering wide the saddest fear,

Assaults, in troubled cry, the startling ear!
And now each short but dreary pause between,
From the deep bosom of the silent shade
What spiry flames with frequent force are seen,
Flashing their liveliest horrors on the glade?

O say! what rude and clamorous breath
Rent with mad shriek the neighbouring sky?
What fiery columns, flaming high,
Enrich the radiant air with deadly state?
Ah me! it was the voice of Death,
It is the fire of Fate.

Some hapless youth, whom Glory never led,
By Fortune's smile, and Victory's palm uublest,
Yet one who scorn'd the flow'ry bed of rest,
A warrior youth, that lov'd to tread
With firm foot on th' embattled plain
The bloody dews of War, whom cruel Fate
Averse beheld, nor with the sainted slain,
Nor yet with those whose happier heads await
The conqu'ring wreaths, enroll'd his mighty name,
By laurel'd Death unown'd, and living Fame :
Him, hapless youth, has dire Defeat

Borne captive to her drear retreat,

And now while Vengeance, with remorseless hand,
Leads the lost wretch amid' the torturing band,
(Nor yet shall pains the secret spirit bare)
A fallen victim to the chance of war,
Such his sad fate, and so the Gods require,
He mounts with step unforc'd the deadly fire.

But hark! again the mingled sound
Of shouts and shrieks around,

Hollow and fearful echoes through the vale;
And ah! amid' the ling'ring cry,
Where 'round the griesly chiefs in triumph lie,
Hear how, in awful voice, the destin'd head
To the sad pyre by funeral Passions led,
Pours long its dying sound, and loads the passing gale.

"Ye conquering chiefs! ye leaders of your train! "Who as ye lie, embath'd in bliss along, "Mark with exulting eye our warriors slain, "To you I call-O hear th' indignant song! "What tho' by happier chance, or by the pow'r "Of kinder Gods that bless your genial skies, "Ye boast the victories of the present hour "Have giv'n you to the noblest heights of fame, "Some vengeful and some bloody morn shall rise, "And sink you low again to death, defeat, and shame.

Then, O my spirit! wand'ring blest around, "Point thou the shaft, and aid the fatal blow, "Then fix, with joy, the deep inglorious wound "That marks, with baser scar, the abject foe! "O then be thine the pleasurable sound, "The yell of battle, and the murderous cry, "The forc'd dull groans of Death, and shrieks of Agony!

"Nor boast, proud Chiefs! a fated victory won
"By forms unseen, and virtues not your own!
"No aid I ask'd, and now no loss deplore,
"Firm, from myself, I call the generous store,
"The sense inflexible to pain,

"The mighty mind, impatient of controul,
"The stern resolve, the fix'd disdain,

"And all the manlier powers that feed a warrior's soul.

"And say, ye fathers of the fight!

"Ye whose high bosoms labour'd for the deed, "Say, saw ye not amid' the battle bleed

"Your sons of

prowess, and your

chiefs of might?

"Say, felt not then your ranks unusual fear,

"While your arm'd nations crowded on the plain,

"When, borne by pow'rful fate, th' unerring spear "(For this for ever be that spear renown'd,

"For this my latest hour with pleasure crown'd!) "Laid low your warrior-chief and level'd with the "slain?

"I saw him fall-I heard the groan

"That pierc'd your ranks with hollow moan; "Mine the spear, and mine the hand

"That smote him from your murderous band, "Who on my country's bleeding plains from far "First planted deep the withering steps of war.

"Ye sons of Oglu! and ye Indian Maids! "I led your hosts, I lov'd your soothing shades, "But perish from my soul the idle strife "Of glorious perils, or of wanton joys, "Begone, and with ye go your glittering train of toys! "Ye flattering hopes! ye foolish fears!

"The warrior's praise! the virgin's tears!

"What colour'd once with joy, or sour'd the springs of "life!

"Though once, with fondest vow,

"I bless'd the sweets of Zeyra's peaceful grove,
"Yet what those sweets bestow,

"The sylvan chace, or gentler charms of Love
"I ask not now-and this dread hour disdains
"The song of Pleasure, and the flow'ry strains,
"The day of revelry, the casy night,

"And all the rapt'rous scenes of past delight; "Lord of myself, I boast a better claim,

"Th' unconquerable soul that scorns the funeral flame. “Not a tear and not a sigh

"Shall weakly to my pangs reply,

"No coward wretch, no dastard foe
"Meanly trembles from the blow,

"But he who bore, unmov'd, your chairs,
“With scorn derides your deadliest pains;
“And tho' denied that happier fate
"Triumphaut fame, and martial state,
“ Or, yet more glorious still, to lie
"With those that for their country die,
"No plaintive sorrows load the mind
"To fortune lost, to fate resign'd;
"And where my gallant spirit turns
“An equal share of ardour burns,
"The genuine glow that once could lead
"A warrior to the doubtful mead,
"Shall arm the soul with haughty pow'r,
And lift it in the torturing hour.

"Tho' now I feel your searching pains "Fierce and more fierce convulse my lab'ring veins, "Tho' fall'n that hand (O bless the deed!) "That fore'd your Warrior-chief to bleed, "Still my true heart in equal motion leaps, "And my firm soul its wonted freedom keeps. "Hail to the dawn that rises on my soul! "All hail the coming day!

“I feel, I feel the fiery torrents roll
"That sweep my purple life away.

"Ah now I come! prepare, ye spirits blest,
"Your bow'rs of pleasure and your beds of rest!
“Yet-ere the bow of life be quite unstrung,

"While the sounds tremble on my fault'ring tongue,
"Receive, ye chiefs! that 'round,the pyre have stood,
Lavish of fate, and prodigal of blood,

""Tis all a dying warrior knows to give,

"My last sad curse, ye warrior chiefs, receive!"