And new triumphs on land are before us;--
To the charge!--Heaven's banner is o'er us.
This day--shall ye blush for its story;
Or brighten your lives with its glory?--
Our women--oh, say, shall they shriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed may his memory blacken,
If a coward there be that would slacken
Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
Being sprung from and named for, the godlike of earth.
Strike home!--and the world shall revere us
As heroes descended from heroes.
Old Greece lightens up with emotion!
Her inlands, her isles of the ocean,
Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with jubilee ring,
And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring.
Our hearts shall be kindled in gladness,
That were cold, and extinguished in sadness;
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms,
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms,--
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens!
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
* * * * *
MARCO BOZZARIS.
[AT LASPI--ANCIENT PLATAEA--AUGUST 20, 1823.]
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring,
Then pressed that monarch's throne--a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.
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