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THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.
I saw him on the battle eve,
When like a king he bore him ! Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave,
And prouder chiefs before him : The warrior, and the warrior's deeds, The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,
No daunting thoughts came o'er him;He look'd around him, and his eye Defiance flash'd to earth and sky!
He look'd on ocean,-its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;
His banner'd millions meet :
The thunder of their feet!
I saw him next alone ;-nor camp
Nor chief his steps attended,
With war-cries proudly blended :-
He who with heaven contended
Fled, like a fugitive and slave ;
He stood,-fleet, army, treasure gone,
Alone, and in despair ! While wave and wind swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there ;
Must all thy fury dare;-
ODE TO AUTUMN.
SYREN! of sullen woods and fading hues,
Sweet Autumn, I thee hail !
With welcome all unfeigned ;
To drink the dewy breath
To solitudes, where no frequented path
By overshadow'd ponds, in woody nooks,
That woo the winds to play,
And meadow pools, torn wide by lawless floods, Where waterlilies spread their glossy leaves,
On which the dragon-fly
Yet batteps in the sun;
His apgle clear of weeds,
Or crispy hills, and hollows scant of sward,
Hath cut rude flights of stairs,
To climb their steepy sides ; Then, tracking at their feet; grown hoarse with
noise, The moaning brook, that ekes its weary speed,
And struggles through the weeds
These haunts, long favour'd, but more so now,
Stealing glad thoughts from grief,
And happy though I sigh !
Fain would I win thine harp
Now, not inaptly craved, commencing thus :
We'll pillow on the grass,
And fondly ruminate
Pastures track'd deep with cows,
Marking the cow boy—who so merry trills
Wooing the winds to pause
Till echo sings again,
To rob the little birds
And sloes, dim cover'd, as with dewy veils,
Arching their prickly trails
Half o'er the narrow lane;
His leathern garb, thorn-proof,
Wild sorceress ! me thy restless mood delights
Where, giddy with the din,
Heart sickening for the silence that is thine-
That lone and vagrant bee
The filtering winds, that winnow through the
woods In tremulous noise, now bid, at every breath,
Some sickly canker'd leaf
Let go its hold and die !
Thee urging to thine end,
And yet, sublime in grief, thy thoughts delight
Haply forgetting now,
They but prepare thy shroud !
Burns with thy mellow touch,
Soon must I view thee as a pleasant dream,
As sad the wind sinks low,
In dirges for their queen!
Starts from his shielding clod,