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 The combat deepens-On, ye brave,

Who rush to glory or the grave;

Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!---

Few, few shall part where many meet,-

The snow shall be their winding sheet;

And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.





ye those loud contending waves,

That shook Cecropia's pillar'd state?

Saw ye the mighty from their graves

Look up, and tremble at her fate?

Who shall calm the angry storm?

Who the mighty task perform

And bid the raging tumult cease.

See, the son of Hermes rise,

With syren tongue, and speaking eyes,

Hush the noise, and sooth to peace!

See the olive branches waving

O'er Illissus winding stream,

Their lovely limbs the Naiads laving,

The Muses smiling by, supreme!

See the nymphs and swains advancing,

To harmonious measures dancing:

Grateful Io Paens rise

To thee, O Power! who canst inspire

Soothing words---or words of fire,

And shookst thy plumes in Attic skies!