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Thou hast but known me ere the trying hour Call'd into life my spirit's latent power; But I have energies that idly slept, While withering o'er my silent woes I wept, And now, when hope and happiness are fled, My soul is firm—for what remains to dread? Who shall have power to suffer and to bear, If strength and courage dwell not with Despair?

"Hamet, farewell!—retrace thy path again, To join thy brethren on the tented plain. There wave and wood, in mingling murmurs, tell, How, in far other cause, thy fathers fell! Yes! on that soil hath Glory's footstep been, Names unforgotten consecrate the scene! Dwell not the souls of heroes round thee there, Whose voices call thee in the whispering air? Unheard, in vain, they call—their fallen son Hath stain'd the name those mighty spirits won, And to the hatred of the brave and free Bequeath'd his own, through ages yet to be!"

Still as she spoke, th' enthusiast's kindling eye Was lighted up with inborn majesty,