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 Serene he lifts to heaven those closing eyes, Then for his country breathes a prayer—and dies! Oh! ever hallow'd be his verdant grave— There let the laurel spread, the cypress wave! Thou, lovely Spring! bestow, to grace his tomb, Thy sweetest fragrance, and thy earliest bloom; There let the tears of heaven descend in balm, There let the poet consecrate his palm! Let honour, pity, bless the holy ground, And shades of sainted heroes watch around! ’Twas thus, while Glory rung his thrilling knell, Thy chief, O Thebes! at Mantinea fell; Smiled undismay'd within the arms of death, While Victory, weeping nigh, received his breath!

O thou, the sovereign of the noble soul! Thou source of energies beyond control! Queen of the lofty thought, the generous deed, Whose sons unconquer’d fight, undaunted bleed,— Inspiring Liberty! thy worshipp'd name The warm enthusiast kindles to a flame; Thy charms inspire him to achievements high, Thy look of heaven, thy voice of harmony. More blest with thee to tread perennial snows, Where ne'er a flower expands, a zephyr blows; Where Winter, binding nature in his chain, In frost-work palace holds perpetual reign; Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove The green savannas and the spicy grove; Scent the rich balm of India's perfumed gales, In citron-woods and aromatic vales: For oh! fair Liberty, when thou art near, Elysium blossoms in the desert drear!