But the earliest work with which we need deal is an anonymous anthology, which forms an exception to the general rule. In 1823 some patriot, by a happy inspiration, collected the snatches of song which the revolutionists had composed and by which they marched to victory, and these form a substantial volume--"La Lira Argentina." It consists of a great number of poems, mostly short--"Marcha patriotica," "Oda" (por la victoria de Suipacha), "Cancion patriotica," "Cancion Heroica," "A La Excelentisima Junta," "Marcha Patriotica" ("Long live our country free from chains, and long live her sons to defend her"), "Marcha Nacional Oriental," and the like. They are full of fire and simple art; they are really a noble national memorial and worth a wilderness of love lyrics. But this view has not been developed, although one would suppose that Argentina, with its mountains and Pampas, deserved better local poetry of manhood and adventure than the rude songs of the Gauchos. Marmol (1818-1873), already referred to as a novelist, in some way carries on the patriotic tradition, for in 1838 he was thrown by Rosas into a dungeon, and inscribed with a burnt stick the following quatrain on the walls of his prison:-- "Wretch! set before me dreadful Death, And all my limbs in fetters bind; Thou canst not quench my moral breath, Nor place a chain upon my mind." He managed to survive and became a busy man of letters and subsequently Director of the National Library. Marmol wrote a good many love poems, but he is more remarkable for having attempted a field which seems to have little attraction for his countrymen. He wrote at least two poetical dramas, "El Cruzado" and "El Poeta," the first historical, the second a modern comedy. He is a sound and conscientious literary craftsman, and the literary world of Buenos Aires looks back to him with profound respect. He seems to have approached nearer to the type of the professional man of letters than is common in Argentina. The other poets are extremely numerous, and it is not necessary to particularise them. With them it is always the hour of night, and the same question always arises: "Why do you come to disturb my calm, image of that being whom I adore, image of that being, for whom alas! I weep, for whom I consume away and die of love?" The quotation in question happens to be from a Colombian poet, but the note is always the same; there is too little distinctiveness about the poets of Argentina to require detailed treatment. The short-lived Adolfo Mitré, who was highly praised for his sincerity and passion, or Sr. Martin Garcia Mérou may stand as types of the rest.