Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 7 1823.pdf/7



from Scio's Isle, A voice of song, a voice of old, Swept far as cloud or billow rolled, And earth was hushed the while.

The souls of nations woke! Where lies the land whose hills among That voice of victory hath not rung, As if a trumpet spoke?

To sky, and sea, and shore, Of those whose blood, on Ilion's plain, Flowed from the rivers to the main, A glorious tale it bore!

Still by our sun-bright deep, With all the fame that fiery lay Threw round them in its rushing way, The sons of battle sleep.

And kings their turf have crown'd! And pilgrims o'er the foaming wave Brought garlands there; so rest the brave, Who thus their bard have found!

A voice from Scio's Isle, A voice as deep hath risen again! As far shall peal its thrilling strain, Where'er our sun may smile!

Let not its tones expire! Such power to waken earth and heaven, And might and vengeance, ne'er was given To mortal song or lyre.

Know ye not whence it comes? —From ruined hearths, from burning fanes, From kindred blood on yon red plains, From desolated homes!

'Tis with us through the night! 'Tis on our hills, 'tis in our sky— —Hear it, thou Heaven! when swords flash nigh, O'er the mid waves of fight.