The feverish war-drum mingles with the fife

In dismal symphony,
And Moslem strikes at liberty and life,-

For botlı, strike harder ye! | Hark! how Cithæron with his earthquake voice

Calls to the utmost shores!
While Pluto bars, against the riving noise,

liis adamantine doors!
Athenè, iiptoe on her crumbling dome,

Cries—« Youth, ve must be men !» And Echo shouts within her rocky tomb,

« Greeks, become Greeks again !» The stone first hroughe, his living tomb to close,

Pausanias' mother piled :
Matrons of Greece! will ye do less for foes

Than sbe did for her child ?
Let boyhood strike!-let every rank and age

Do cach what each can do!
Let him whose arm is mighty as his rage,

Strike deep-strike home--strike through! Be wise, be firm, be cautious, yet be bold !

Be brother-truc! be ONE ! I teach but what ibe Phrygian taught of old

Divide, and be undone! Hallow'd in life, in death itself, is he

Who for his country dies; A light, a star, to all futurity

then ! arise!
O countrymen! 0 countrymen! once more-

By earth-and seas-and skies-
By Heaven-by sacred Hades--1 implore-

Arise! arise! arise!

ve the

A VOICE FROM MARATHON,
O For a voice, as loud as that of Fame,

To breathe the word- Arise!
From Pindus to Taygetus to proclaim-

Let every Greek arise!
Te who have hearts to strike a single blow,

Hear my despriring cries!
Ye who have hands to immolate one foe,

Arise! arise! arise!
From the dim fields of Asphodel beneath,

Cpborne by cloudy sighs
Of those who love their country still in death,-

Ev'o I-ev'n 1-arise!
These are not hands for earthly wringing--these! –

Blood should not blind these eyes! -
Yet biere I stand, untomb'd MILTIADES,

Weeping-arise! arise ! Hear

groans that heave this burial-field ?-Old Græcia's saviour-band Cry from the dust- « Fight on! nor dare to yield!

Save ye our father-land! « Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear!

Break it within your breast;
Then come, brave Greek! and join your brothers here

In our immortal rest!»
Shall modern Datis, swoln with Syrian pride,

Cover the land with slaves ?-
Ay- let them cover it, both far and wide, -

Cover it with their graves!
Much has been done-but more remains to do-

Ye have fought long and well!
The trump that, on the Eyean, glory blew,

Seemd with a storm to swell!
Asia's grim tyrant shudder'd at the sound,

He leap'd upon his throne!
Murmur'd his horse-tail'd chieftainry around-

« Another Marathon! »
Dodona, 'mid her fanes and forests hoar,

Heard it with solemn ylee :
And old Parnassus, with a lofty roar,

Told it from sea to sea!
High-bosom'd Greece, through her unnumber'd vales,

Broke forth in glorious song!
Her classic streams that plough the headlong Jales,

Thunderd the notes along!
But there's a bloodier wreath to gain, oh friends!

Now rise, or ever fall!
If ye fight now no fiercer than the fiends,

Better not fight at all!

Arise ye,

THE GHOST OF MILTIADES.

Ah quoties dubius scriptis erarsit amator! -Ovid.

Tae ghost of Miltiades came at night,
And he stood by ihe bed of the Benthamite,
And he said, in a voice that thrilld the frame,
«If ever the sound of Marathon's name
Hath fired thy blood, or flushi'd thy brow,
Lover of liberty, rouse thee now!»
The Benthamite, yawning, Jeft his bed-
Away to the Stock Exchange he sped,
And he found the scrip of Greece so high,
That it fired his blood, it tlusid his eye,
And oh!'t was a siglit for the ghost to see,
For there never was Greek more Greek than he!
And still, as the premium higher went,
His ecstasy rose-so much per cent.

MORAL POSITIONS.

A DREAM.

His Lordship said that it took a long time for a moral position to find its way across the Atlantic. He was sorry that its voyage bad been so long.. etc. ---Speech of Lord Dudley and Ward on Colonial Slavery, March 8.

(As we see, in a glass that tells the weather,
The heat and the silver rise together,)
And Liberty sung from the patriot's lip,
While a voice from his pocket whisperd, «Scrip!»
The ghost of Miltiades came again ;-
He smiled, as the pale moon shines through rain,
For his soul was glad at that patriot strain;
(And, poor, dear ghost-how !itle he knew
The jobs and tricks of the Philhellene crew!)

Blessings and thanks!» was all he said,
Then melting away,

like a nighe-dream, fled!
The Benthamite hears-amazed that ghosts
Could be such fools-and away he posts,
A patriot still? Ab no,

al no-
Goddess of Freedom, thy scrip is low,
And, warm and fond as thy lovers are,
Thou triest their passion when under par.
The Benthamite's ardour fast decays,
By turns, he weeps, and swears, and

prays,
And wishes the Devil had crescent and cross,
Ere he had been forced to sell at a loss.
They quote him the stock of various nations,
But, spite of his classic associations,
Lord! how he loathes the Greek quotations!
• Who'll buy my scrip? Who 'll buy my scrip?»
Is now the theme of the patriot's lip,
As he runs to tell how hard his lot is
To Messrs Orlando and Lurioltis,
And says, « Oh Greece, for liberty's sake,
Do buy my scrip, and I vow to break
Those dark, upholy bonds of thine-
If you 'll only consent to buy up mine?»
The ghost of Miltiades came once more ;-
Iis brow, like the niglie, was lowering o'er,
And he said, with a look that flashi'd dismay,
« Of Liberty's foes the worst are they
Who turn to a trade her cause divine,
And gamble for gold on Freedom's shrine !»
Thus saying, the ghost, as he took his flight,
Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite,
Which sent him, whimpering, off to Jerry-
And vapish'd away to the Stygian ferry!

T' Orier night, after hearing Lord Dudley's oration (A treat that comes once in the year, as May-day

does), I dreamt that I saw-what a strange operation!

A « moral position» shipp'd off for Barbadoes. The whole Bench of Bishops stood by, in grave attitudes,

Packing the article tidy and neat;As their Rev'rences know, that in southerly latitudes

« Moral positions » don't keep very swect. There was Bathurst arranging the custom-house pass; And, to guard the frail package from tousing and

routing, There stood my Lord Eldon, endorsing it « Glass,» Though-as to which side should lie uppermost

doubling. The freight was, however, stow'd safe in the hold; The winds were polite, and the moon look'd ro

mantic, While off in the good slip « the Truth» we were roll'd,

With our ethical cargo, across the Atlantic.
Long, dolefully long, seem'd the voyage we made;-

For « the Truth,» at all times but a very slow sailer, Dy friends, near as much as by foes, is delay'd,

And few come aboard bier, though so many hail her. At length, safe arrived, I went through « tare and tret,»

Deliver'd my goods in the primest condition-
And next morning read, in the Bridgetown Gazette,

« Just arrived, by the Truth,' a new Moral Position ! « The Captain»--herc, started to find myself named

As « the Captain» (a thing which, I own it with pain, I, through life, have avoided), I woke-look'd ashamed

Found I was n't a captain, and dozed off again,

THE TWO BONDSMEN. Woen Joseph, a Bondsman in Egypt, of old,

Shuno'd the wanton embraces of Potiphar's dame, She offer'd him jewels, she offer'd him gold,

But more than all riches he valued his fame. Oh Joseph! thou Bondsman of Greece, can it be That the actions of namesakes so little agree? Greck Scrip is a Potiphar's lady to thee, When with 13 per cent. she embellish'd her charms, Didst thou fiy, honest Josepha? Yes-into her arms. Oh Joseph! dear Joseph! bethiok thee in time, And take a friend's counsel, though tender'd in rhyme. Refund, « honest» Joseph: how great were the shame, If, when posteriority' sits on thy name, They should sternly decree, 'twixt your namesake and

you, That he was the Christian, and thou wert the Jew.

Remote posterity-a favourite word of the present AttorneyGeneral's.

REFLECTIONS.
SUGGESTED BY A LATE CORRESPONDENCE ON THE CATHOLIC

QUESTION
Poor Catholics, bitter enough,

Heaven knows, are the doses you 've taken ;
You've swallow'd down LIVERPOOL's stuff,

His nonsense of ether, « well shaken;»
You 've borne the mad slaver of Lees,

And the twaddle of saintly Lord LORTON;
Bul-worse, oh ye gods, than all these-

You've been lectured by Mr Scc. Horron!
Alas for six millions of men!

Fit subjects for nought but dissection,
When lorton himself takes the pen,

To tell them they 've lost his protection!
Ye sects, who monopolise bliss,

While your neighbours' damnation you sport on,
Koow ye any damnation like this-

To be cut by the Under Sec. HORTON ?