LXXIII. Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! 1 Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, And long accustom❜d bondage uncreate? Not such thy sons who whilome did await, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thermopyla's sepulchral strait — Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb? LXXIV. Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow 2 Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand; From birth till death enslaved; in word,in deed, unmann'd. LXXV. In all save form alone, how changed! and who Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page. 1 Some Thoughts on the present State of Greece and Turkey will be found in the Appendix, Notes [D] and [E]. 2 Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable remains: it was seized by Thrasybulus, previous to the expulsion of the Thirty. LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no! True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foe! Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same; Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. LXXVII. The city won for Allah from the Giaour, The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest; And the Serai's impenetrable tower 1 Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. LXXVIII. Yet mark their mirth- -ere lenten days begin 1 When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. 2 Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Waha. bees, a sect yearly increasing. LXXIX. And whose more rife with merriment than thine, Oh Stamboul!! once the empress of their reign? Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain!) Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, All felt the common joy they now must feign, Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song, As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bosphorus along. 2 [Of Constantinople Lord Byron says, "I have seen the ruins of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delphi; I have traversed great part of Turkey, and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia; but I never beheld a work of nature or art which yielded an impression like the prospect on each side, from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden Horn."] 2 ["The view of Constantinople," says Mr. Rose," which appeared intersected by groves of cypress (for such is the effect of its great burial-grounds planted with these trees), its gilded domes and minarets reflecting the first rays of the sun; the deep blue sea in which it glassed itself,' and that sea covered with beautiful boats and barges darting in every direction in perfect silence, amid sea-fowl, who sat at rest upon the waters, altogether conveyed such an impression as I had never received, and probably never shall again receive, from the view of any other place." The following sonnet, by the same author, has been so often quoted, that, but for its exquisite beauty, we should not have ventured to reprint it here: "A glorious form thy shining city wore, 'Mid cypress thickets of perennial green, Of sculptured barques and galleys many a score; I, hardly conscious if I dreamed or woke, LXXX. Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore, Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone, And timely echo'd back the measured oar, And rippling waters made a pleasant moan: The Queen of tides on high consenting shone, And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 'T was, as if darting from her heavenly throne, A brighter glance her form reflected gave, [lave. Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they LXXXI. Glanced many a light caique along the foam, These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill! LXXXII. But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud! LXXXIII. This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, Ah! Greece! they love thee least who owe thee most; Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde! LXXXIV. When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, When Athens' children are with hearts endued, : Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? LXXXV. And yet how lovely in thine age of woe, Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou! So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth; 1 On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in winter. |