t'rously swell,
While the tyrant is gath'ring his power again.
Though the balm of the leech may soften the smart,
It never can turn the swift barb from its aim;
And thus the resolve of the true freeman's heart
May not keep back his fall, though it free it from shame.
Though the hearts of those heroes all well could accord
With freedom's most noble and loftiest word;
Their virtuous strength availeth them nought
With the power and skill that the tyrant brought.
Gray veterans trained in many a field
Where the fate of nations with blood was sealed,
In Italia's vales--on the shores of the Rhine--
Where the plains of fair France give birth to the vine--
Where the Tagus, the Ebro, go dancing along,
Made glad in their course by the Muleteer's song--
All these were poured down in the pride of their might,
On the land of Oge, in that terrible fight.
Ah! dire was the conflict, and many the slain,
Who slept the last sleep on that red battle-plain!
The flash of the cannon o'er valley and height
Danced like the swift fires of a northern night,
Or the quivering glare which leaps forth as a token
That the King of the Storm from his cloud-throne has spoken.
And oh! to those heroes how welcome the fate
Of Sparta's brave sons in Thermopylae's strait;
With what ardor of soul they then would have given
Their last look at earth for a long glance at heaven!
Their lives to their country--their backs to the sod--
Their heart's blood to the sword, and their souls to their God!
But alas! although many lie silent and slain,
More blest are they far than those clanking the chain,
In the hold of the tyrant, debarred from the day;--
And among these sad captives is Vincent Oge!

* * * * *

Another day's bright sun has risen,
And shines upon the insurgent's prison;
Another night has slowly passed,
And Oge smiles, for 'tis the last
He'll droop beneath the tyrant's power--
The galling chains! Another hour,
And answering to the jailor's call,
He stands within the Judgment Hall.
They've gathered there;--they who have pressed
Their fangs into the soul distressed,
To pain its passage to the tomb
With mock'ry of a legal doom.
They've gathered there;--they who have stood
Firmly and fast in hour of