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7. I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth; Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned
lyre, And sing us a song on the fall of her sire.
8. Remember the moment when Previsa fell, (32) The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conqueror's
yell; The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we
shared, The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spar
9. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; He neither must know who would serve the Vi.
zier: Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw."
10. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, Let the yellow-baird* Giaourst view his horse
tail# with dread; When his Delhiss came dashing in blood o'er
the banks, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks!
• Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians.
Horse. tails are the insignia of a Pacha.
11. Selictar!* unsheath then our chief's scimitar : Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war. Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, Shall view us as victors, or view us no more!
LXXIII. Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! (33) 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 Thermopylæ’s sepulchral strait
Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the
LXXIV. Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow (34) Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thirty tyrants now enfore the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Nor rise thy sons, bụt idly rail in vain,
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed
LXXV. In all save form alone, how changed ! and who That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew
With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty !
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,
LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not
[blow? Who would be free themselves must strike the 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
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of
LXXVII, The city won for Allah from the Giaour, The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest; And the Serai's impenetrable tower Receive the fiery Frank, her former gyest; (35) Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest The (36) prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, May wind their path of blood along the West;
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, But slave succeed to slave through years of endless
To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin,
In motley robe to dance at masking ball,
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 thrilld the Bosphorus along.
LXXX. Loud was the lightsome tumult of 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, 'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne,
A brighter glance her form reflected gave, Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks
LXXXI. Glanced many a light caique along the foam, Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home,
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,
• LXXXI. But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, Even through the closest searment half be
tray'd ? To such the gentle murmurs of the main Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain : To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain :
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, And long to change the robe of revel for the
LXXXIII. This must he feel, the true-born soy of Greece, If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast : Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword : 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. Wben riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, When Athens' children are with hearts endued,