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The boy stood on the burning deck

Whence all but he had fled;
The flames that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on he would not go

Without his father's word ;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

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He called aloud:-“ Say, father, say,

If yet my task is done !"
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

Speak, father! once again he cried,

“If I may yet be gone ! And "- but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

“My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendour wild;

They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child

Like banners in the sky.

There came a blast of thunder-sound

The boy-oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around

With fragments strewed the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,

That well had borne their part-
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that

faithful heart !




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 looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky!
He looked on ocean ;

its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;
On earth ; -- and saw from east to west

His bannered millions meet;
While rock and glen, and cave and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,

The thunder of their feet!
He heard the imperial echoes ring -
He heard, and felt himself a king !

I saw him next alone; nor camp

Nor chief his steps attended;
Nor banner's blaze nor courser's tramp

With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seemed to deify ;

He who with Heaven contended
Fled, like a fugitive and slave,
Behind the foe, before the wave !
He stood — fleet, army, treasure gone,

Alone, and in despair;
While wave and wind swept ruthless on,

For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes in a simple bark,
Where late his thousand ships were dark,

Must all thy fury dare ;-
Thy glorious revenge was this,
Thy trophy, deathless Salamis !




Morning is beaming o'er brake and bower;
Hark! to the chimes from yonder tower !
Call ye my First from her chamber now
With her snowy veil and her jewelled brow.

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