ris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.

* * * * *

Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee--there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral weeds for thee,
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb;
But she remembers thee as one
Long-loved and for a season gone.
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace couch and cottage-bed....
And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,
The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,
Talk of thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's:
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.

EXPRESSION: Talk with your teacher about these three poems, and the
proper manner of reading each. Learn all that you can about their
authors.

THE INDIAN[53]

Think of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them?
As Philip looked down from his seat on Mount Hope and beheld the lovely
scene which spread beneath at a summer sunset,--the distant hilltops
blazing with gold, the slanting beams streaming across the waters, the
broad plains, the island groups, the majestic forests,--could he be
blamed, if his heart burned within him, as he beheld it all passing, by
no tardy process, from beneath his control, into the hands of the
stranger?

As the river chieftains--the lords of the waterfalls and the
mountains--ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at, if they
beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler's
ax--the fishing places disturbed by his sawmills?

Can we not imagine the feelings, with which some strong-minded savage
chief, who should have ascended the summit of the Sugarloaf Mountain, in
co