Up the shrouds and up the mast, And are flickering to the sky; Now the deck is all a-blaze; now the rails- Fore and aft the torches meet, Are the sails. No one heard the cry of woe But no hand to save was nigh; Still before the burning foe they were drivenLast farewells were uttered there, With a wild and frenzied stare, And a short and broken prayer Sent to Heaven. Some leap over in the flood To the death that waits them there; Some, a moment to escape from the grave. But their death is near at hand- From his briny ocean-bed, When the morning sun awoke, And a sable cloud of smoke Was the monumental pyre that remained But the sea gulls round it fly, Blood had stained Go Whose notes of old on lofty Pindus rang, While Jove's exulting choir Caught the glad echoes and responsive sang— Come! bless the service and the shrine We consecrate to thee and thine. Fierce from the frozen North, When Havoc led his legions forth, [spread: O'er Learning's sunny groves the dark destroyer In dust the sacred statue slept, Fair Science round her altars wept, And Wisdom cowled his head. At length, Olympian lord of morn, When, through golden clouds descending, O'er Nature's lovely pageant bending, Till Avon rolled, all sparkling to thy sight! There, on its bank, beneath the mulberry's shade, Wrapped in young dreams, a wild-eyed minstrel strayed. Lighting there and lingering long, Thy fingers strung his sleeping shell, And bade him wake and warm the world! Then SHAKSPEARE rose! And, lo! a new creation glows! There, clustering round, submissive to his will, Madness, with his frightful scream, Hatred, blasting with a glance; Remorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars, And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yer adores. Mirth, his face with sun-beams lit, Arm in arm with fresh-eyed Wit, That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell. Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream, Beneath the bubbling wave, that shrouds her maniac breast. Young Love, with eye of tender gloom, And now, when crimson buds are sleeping, Where Beauty's child, the frowning world forgot, To youth's devoted tale is listening, Rapture on her dark lash glistening, [spot. While fairies leave their cowslip cells and guard the happy Thus rise the phantom throng, Obedient to their master's song, And lead in willing chain the wandering soul along. The fireside legend, and the faded page, And guide young Glory's foot along the path of Fame. Hell's juggling sisters stand, To greet their victim from the fight; And He seeks the fatal tower, Where the lone raven, perched on high Pours to the sullen gale Her hoarse, prophetic wail, And croaks the dreadful moment nigh. See, by the phantom dagger led, Pale, guilty thing, Slowly he steals with silent tread, grasps his coward steel to smite his sleeping king. Hark! 'tis the signal bell, Struck by that bold and unsexed one, 'Tis done! 'tis done! Behold him from the chamber rushing, Where his dead monarch's blood is gushing: Life's smoking crimson on his hands, Mark the sceptred traitor slumbering! There flit the slaves of Conscience round, In his dream of blood for mercy quaking, |