Yet, gallant heart! to swell thy praise, Vain were the minstrel’s noblest lays; Since he, the soldier’s guiding star, The Victor-chief, the lord of war, Has own’d thy fame: And oh! like _his_ approving word, What trophied marble could record A warrior’s name? GUERILLA SONG. FOUNDED ON THE STORY RELATED OF THE SPANISH PATRIOT MINA. Oh! forget not the hour when through forest and vale We return’d with our chief to his dear native halls; Through the woody sierra there sigh’d not a gale, And the moonbeam was bright on his battlement-walls; And nature lay sleeping in calmness and light, Round the home of the valiant, that rose on our sight. We enter’d that home--all was loneliness round, The stillness, the darkness, the peace of the grave; Not a voice, not a step, bade its echoes resound: Ah, such was the welcome that waited the brave! For the spoilers had pass’d, like the poison-wind’s breath, And the loved of his bosom lay silent in death. Oh! forget not that hour--let its image be near, In the light of our mirth, in the dreams of our rest, Let its tale awake feelings too deep for a tear, And rouse into vengeance each arm and each breast, Till cloudless the dayspring of liberty shine O’er the plains of the olive and hills of the vine. THE AGED INDIAN. Warriors! my noon of life is past, The brightness of my spirit flown; I crouch before the wintry blast, Amidst my tribe I dwell alone; The heroes of my youth are fled, They rest among the warlike dead. Ye slumberers of the narrow cave! My kindred chiefs in days of yore! Ye fill an unremember’d grave, Your fame, your deeds, are known no more. The records of your wars are gone, Your names forgot by all but one. Soon shall that one depart from earth, To join the brethren of his prime; Then will the memory of your birth Sleep with the hidden things of time. With him, ye sons of former days! Fades the last glimmering of your praise. His eyes, that hail’d your spirits’ flame, Still kindling in the combat’s shock, Have seen, since darkness veil’d your fame, Sons of the desert and the rock! Another and another race Rise to the battle and the chase. Descendants of the mighty dead! Fearless of heart, and firm of hand! Oh, let me join their spirits fled-- Oh! send me to their shadowy land. Age hath not tamed Ontara’s heart-- He shrinks not from the friendly dart. These feet no more can chase the deer, The glory of this arm is flown;-- Why should the feeble linger here When all the pride of life is gone? Warriors! why still the stroke deny? Think ye Ontara fears to die?