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Thick the darts, the arrows fly;
Hapless monarch! he must die!
Mark the solemn funeral state
Passing through the western gate !
Chàpultèqua's cave contains
Mighty Motezume's remains.

• Cease the strife! alas, 'tis vain!
Myriads throng Otumba's plain;
Wide their feathery crests they wave,
All the strong and all the brave*.
Gleaming glory through the skies,
See the’ Imperial standard flies !
Down by force resistless torn;
Off in haughty triumph borne.
Slaughter heaps the vale with dead,
Fugitives the mountains spread.

Mexico, 'tis thine to know
More of battle, more of woe!“
Bright in arms the stranger train
O'er thy causeways move again.
Bend the bow, the shaft prepare,
Join the breastplate's folds with care;
Raise the sacrificial fire,
Bid the captive youths expiret;

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• Cortes, in his retreat, from Mexico, after the death of Motezoma, was followed and surrounded by the whole collective force of the empire, in the plains of Otumba. After repelling the attacks of his enemies on every side, with indefatigable valour, he found himself overpowered by numbers; wben, making one desperate effort, with a few select friends, be seized the imperial standard, killed the general, and routed

the army.

+ De Solis relates, that the Mexicans sacrificed to their idols a number of Spaniards whom they bad taken prisoners, and whose cries and groans were distinctly heard in the Spanish camp, exciting sentiments of borror and revenge in their sur. viving companions.

Wake the sacred trumpet's breath,
Pouring anguish, pouring death *;
Troops from every street repair,
Close them in the fatal snare;
Valiant as they are, they fly,
Here they yield, and there they die.'

• Cease the strife! 'tis fruitless all,
Mexico at last must fall!
Lo! the dauntless band return,
Furious for the fight they burn !
Lo! auxiliar nations round,
Crowding o'er the darken'd ground !
Corses fill thy trenches deep;
Down thy temple's lofty steep
See thy priests, thy princes thrown-
Hark! I hear their parting groan!
Blood thy lake with crimson dyes,
Flames from all thy domes arise !

What are those that round thy shore
Launch thy troubled waters o'er?
Swift canoes that from the fight
Aid their vanquish'd monarch's flight;
Ambush'd in the reedy shade,
Them the stranger barks invade;
Soon thy lord a captive bends,
Soon thy far famed empire ends t;

• The above author observes, that the sacred trumpet of the Mexicans was so called because it was not permitted to any but the priests to sound it; and that only when they de. nounced war, and animated the people on the part of their gods.

+ When the Spaniards had forced their way to the centre of Mexico, Guatimozin, the reigoing emperor; endeavoured to escape in his canoes across the Lake; but was parsued and taken prisoner by Garcia de Holguin, captain of one of the Spanish brigantines.

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Otomèca shares thy spoils,
Tlàscalà in triumph smiles *.
Mourn, devoted city, mourn!
Mourn, devoted city, mourn!

• Cease your boast, О stranger band,
Conquerors of my fallen land !
Avarice strides your van before,
Phantom meagre, pale, and hoar!
Discord follows, breathing flame,
Still opposing claim to claim t;
Kindred demons, haste along!
Haste, avenge my country's wrong!'

Ceased the voice with dreadful sounds,
Loud as tides that burst their bounds;
Roll'd the form in smoke away,
Amazed on earth the exorcists lay;
Pondering on the dreadful lore,
Their course the' Iberians downward bore;

Their helmets glittering o'er the vale, And wide their ensigns fluttering in the gale.


* The Otomies were a fierce, savage nation, never thoroughly subdued by the Mexicans. Tlascala was a powerful neighbour. ing repablic, the rival of Mexico.

+ Allading to the dissensions which ensued among the Spaniards after the conquest of America.


(STRAIN OF MUSIC.) THERE breathes the language known and felt

Far as the pure air spreads its living zone; Wherever Rage can rouse or Pity melt,

That language of the soul is felt and known. From those meridian plains

Where oft, of old, on some high tower, The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight strains, And call'd his distant love with such sweet

power That when she heard the well known lay, Not worlds could keep her from his arms away;

To those bleak realms of polar night,
Where the youth of Lapland's sky
Bids his rapid reindeer fly,
And sings along the darkling waste of snow.

As blithe as if the blessed light
Of vernal Phoebus burn'd upon his brow;

Oh Music! thy celestial claim

Is still resistless, still the same; And faithful as the mighty sea

To the pole star that o'er its realm presides,

The spell-bound tides
Of human passion rise and fall from thee.

List! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings
While, from Ilyssus' flowery springs,

• Recited by the author, at the Kilkenny Theatre, in 1810. The performers were gentlemen of the neighbouring country; and the profits were given to the charitable institutions of Kilkenny.

She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn, While, by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, Some patriot youth the glorious past revolving,

Dreams of bright days that never can return; When Athens nursed her olive bough

With hands by tyrant power unchain'd, And braided for the Muse's brow

A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd; When heroes trod each classic field,

Where coward feet now faintly falter, And every arm was Freedom's shield, And every heart was Freedom's altar.

(GREEK AIR INTERRUPTED BY A TRUMPET.) Hark! 'tis the sound that charms

The war-steed's wakening ears— Oh! many a mother folds her arms [hears;

Round her boy-soldier when that sound she

And, though her fond heart sinks with fears,
Is proud to see his young pulse bound
With valour's fever at the sound.

See from his native hills afar
The rude Helvetian flies to war,
Careless for what, for whom he fights,

For slave or despot, wrongs or rights,
A conqueror oft, a hero never;

Yet lavish of his lifeblood still

As if 'twere like his mountain rill, And gush'd for ever!

(RANZ DES VACHES.) Oh Music! here, even here

Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power. There is an air, which oft among the rocks

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