No clarion’s voice was on the breeze, No trumpet’s stormy blast; The hollow moan of distant seas Was echoed as they past. With measured step and stealthy tread, In stern and proud array, They sought the camp in silence dread Where the slumb’ring Persian lay. Then long and loud the battle-shout Rung on the startled air, There was fitful torch-light flashing out And sudden arming there. The shriek of death and wild despair, And hasting to and fro, When like the lion from his lair The Spartan charged the foe. Then hand to hand and spear to spear The hostile armies stood; The tempest’s note rung loud and clear And shook the solitude. And ’mid the fearful tide of fight, Where thousands met to die, The lances gleamed athwart the night Like lightning in the sky. On! on they swept their land to bless, And fast around their way The Persians gathered numberless As leaves in summer’s day. Morn dawned upon that battle-field, And shivered spear and lance, And banner torn and broken shield Reflected every glance. But where were they—those patriots bold, Of bright and fearless eye? Each noble heart in death was cold, Each spirit in the sky. Fair Greece! of glorious deeds the clime By dauntless valor wrought; Of daring minds, and souls sublime, The pioneers of thought! No marvel that thy skies should boast A fairer, sunnier blue— Departed day illumes the west With many a radiant hue. * * * * * LOST TREASURES. BY P. D. T. I am coming, I am coming, when this fitful dream is o’er, To meet you, my beloved ones, on that immortal shore, Where pain and parting are unknown, and where the ransomed blest Shall welcome treasures left on earth, to Heaven’s eternal rest. I am with you, I am with you, in the visions of the night, I feel each warm hand pressing mine, I meet each eye of light. Oh these are precious seasons! they bring you back to me, But morning dawns, and with it comes the sad reality.