LINES ON THE CAPTURE OF WARSAW BY TILE RUSSIANS.
And are they low—those noble ones ? and was the struggle vain, Where Freedom strove with Tyranny, and valour with the chain? Hath the meteor torch of Liberty but waked the Pole, to cast One bright ray on his fetters, and be quench'd in Slavery's blast?
Oh! sorrowful and broken are the spirits of the brave, As they think upon the happier dead, cold in their glorious grave; And life shall be unheeded now, or only prized to tell The captive child to love the cause in which his father fell.
But shall there be no vengeance for that murder'd patriot band ?
No payment for the blood they pour'd, like water on the sand ?
For all the beauteous earth was made, for all the glorious sun, And why should thousands weep and bleed, to glut the pride of one ?
Yet hark ! their doom is spoken in a spirit's awful tones; They quail—the Royal Vultures—Oh ! they tremble on their thrones e And Freedom, with a giant arm, her standard hath unfurled, Mankind shall be her children, and her hallowed home—the world.
J. W. W.
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