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When as he clasp'd his plighted maiden's frame,

Upon his brow, his lip, his eye,

Where war had mark'd its deepest dye,

And banish'd ev'ry line and air

Which milder nature traces there,
Affection's soften'd lustre came,
Mingled with darkest shades of hardihood,
Like ev'ning's ray on ocean's stormy flood.


Yet there is one who 'midst the happy bands
Smiles not, nor looks upon the changing scene;

Descending manacles compress her hands,
But free and unconfin'd her dauntless mien,
In garb a captive, but in mind a queen,

The fair Cassandra—In the victor's car,
By his war-bruised mail she stands serene,

Her light robe on his cuirass streaming far,
As on the brow of night faint gleams the matin star.


Her's is no vulgar form—proportion's grace
Floats o'er her limbs amidst the mantle's fold;

Expression's shadows pass across her face,
And underneath her waving locks of gold
The glaz'd and melancholy eye-ball roll'd

In phrensy, seems to look on other spheres:
Fancy by frigid reason uncontroll'd

Hangs on her parted lips, and there appears Moulding imperfect sounds to melt the soul to tears.


At first low murmurs falter on her tongue;

Convulsive respiration heaves her breast; Till as the raptures of mysterious song,

Now bursting wildly forth, now half supprest,

Flash on her mind, her eyes no longer rest— The vein that streaks her brow with azure line

Throbs in quick pulse; by all the God possest Her visage brightens with a gleam divine. And o'er her mortal frame immortal glories shine.

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Dark her prophetic strain begins—1 Tis come,
* The hour of retribution—let me share
'The joy of vengeance; I behold
1 Destruction's tempest onward roll'd:
'I hear the distant hum
'Of battle—but he dies not there—
* Not on the tented field,

'Thy bier a corselet, and thy shroud a shield, 1 Proud spoiler, art thou laid, 'Nor shall triumphal paeans sooth thy shade; 'But midst the festive measure, 'Whilst swims thine eye in pleasure, * Death shall rush in and bear away

'Thee, mighty chief, his unresisting prey.'


She paus'd—the wond'ring warriors back retir'd,
And eager gaz'd upon the maid inspir'd,
Watch'd her flush'd bosom, and her pallid cheek,
Her quiv'ring lip, that silent seem'd to speak,

Her nostrils strain'd with breathing, and her eye
Fix'd on the visions pale of poesy;
She paus'd not long—for soon thro' ev'ry vein
The wild empassion'd phrenzy flow'd again.


'Proud victors! these hands ye may bind—
* But wild as the ocean, and free as the wind,
'Is the tumult of fancy, the rapture of mind,
'Which spurning the past, to futurity soars,

• And views through the shadows of night,

'O'er the pathless abyss, without beacon or shores,

'On the distant horizon the flashes of light. 'Then mine be the triumph—insult with a smile,

* Base tyrants, this perishing form,

* But my spirit has mounted the while, 1 Like the eagle it rides on the storm, 'And exultingly wings its aerial way 'To the fount of its splendor, the region of day.

'But ah! I fondly rave— 'Land of my fathers, cradle of the brave, e Pearl of the Eastern billow, beauty's gem,

'Refulgent set in Asia's diadem,

'Thee, thee I visit on the tide of years;

'And Mem'ry's misty eye, suffus'd with tears,

'Still strains its aching sight thro' life's dark sky

'To the first beam of morning, infancy:

'O'er my rack'd sense a milder zephyr plays,

'I feel the balmy air of former days,

'And listen to the echoes that prolong

'From vale to vale my childhood's early song/


Again she paus'd, and o'er her thoughtful face,
A faint smile came, at sight of joys long past;
But soon it faded, and her brow o'ercast,
Seem'd striving still the much-lov d forms to trace.
Then fierce upon her soul
Passion's conflicting storm began to roll;
Whilst changing fancy evry feature fir'd,
And fram'd th' expression to the thought inspir'd;
The flush of hope, the darkness of despair,

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