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Who shall impede her flight?

Who rob her of her prey?

Voice without. Victory! victory! Russia's famished eagles Dare not to prey beneath the crescent's light !

Impale the remnant of the Greeks! despoil!
Violate! make their flesh cheaper than dust!


Thou voice which art

The herald of the ill in splendour hid!
Thou echo of the hollow heart

Of Monarchy! bear me to thine abode
When desolation flashes o'er a world destroyed.
Oh bear me to those isles of jagged cloud
Which float like mountains on the earthquakes 'mid
The momentary oceans of the lightning;

Or to some toppling promontory proud

Of solid tempest, whose black pyramid,

Riven, overhangs the founts intensely brightening

Of those dawn-tinted deluges of fire,

Before their waves expire,

When heaven and earth are light, and only light,
In the thunder-night!

Voice without. Victory! victory! Austria, Russia, England, And that tame serpent, that poor shadow, France,

Cry peace; and that means death when monarchs speak.
Ho there! bring torches, sharpen those red stakes!
These chains are light, fitter for slaves and poisoners
Than Greeks!-Kill! plunder! burn! let none remain !


Alas for Liberty,

If numbers, wealth, or unfulfilling years,

Or fate, can quell the free!

Alas for Virtue, when

Torments, or contumely, or the sneers

Of erring-judging men,

Can break the heart where it abides!

Alas! if Love, whose smile makes this obscure world splendid

Can change, with its false times and tides,

Like hope and terror—

Alas for Love!

And Truth, who wanderest lone and unbefriended,
If thou canst veil thy lie-consuming mirror
Before the dazzled eyes of Error,
Alas for thee, image of the Above!


Repulse, with plumes from Conquest torn,

Led the Ten-thousand from the limits of the morn

Through many an hostile anarchy:

At length they wept aloud and cried "The sea! the sea!"—
Through exile, persecution, and despair,

Rome was: and young Atlantis shall become

The wonder, or the terror, or the tomb,

Of all whose step wakes Power lulled in her savage lair.
But Greece was as a hermit child

Whose fairest thoughts and limbs were built

To woman's growth by dreams so mild

And now

She knew not pain or guilt.

O Victory, blush! and Empire, tremble!
When ye desert the free.

If Greece must be

A wreck, yet shall its fragments re-assemble,
And build themselves again impregnably
In a diviner clime,

To Amphionic music, on some cape sublime
Which frowns above the idle foam of time.


Let the tyrants rule the desert they have made;
Let the free possess the paradise they claim;
Be the fortune of our fierce oppressors weighed
With our ruin, our resistance, and our name!

Our dead shall be the seed of their decay,

Our survivors be the shadows of their pride;

Our adversity a dream to pass away,

Their dishonour a remembrance to abide.

Voice without. Victory! victory! The bought Briton sends The keys of ocean to the Islamite.

Now shall the blazon of the cross be veiled,

And British skill directing Othman might
Thunder-strike rebel victory. Oh keep holy
This jubilee of unrevenged blood!

Kill! crush! despoil! Let not a Greek escape!


Darkness has dawned in the east

On the noon of time:

The death-birds descend to their feast
From the hungry clime.

Let Freedom and Peace flee far

To a sunnier strand,

And follow Love's folding-star

To the evening land.


The young moon has fed

Her exhausted horn

With the sunset's fire;

The weak day is dead,

But the night is not born;

And, like loveliness panting with wild desire
While it trembles with fear and delight,

Hesperus flies from awakening night,

And pants in its beauty and speed with light
Fast-flashing, soft, and bright.

Thou beacon of love! thou lamp of the free!
Guide us far far away

To climes where now, veiled by the ardour of day,
Thou art hidden

From waves on which weary noon
Faints in her summer swoon,

Between kingless continents sinless as Eden,
Around mountains and islands inviolably
Pranked on the sapphire sea.


Through the sunset of hope,

Like the shapes of a dream, What paradise islands of glory gleam! Beneath heaven's cope,

Their shadows more clear float by

The sound of their oceans, the light of their sky,

The music and fragrance their solitudes breathe,

Burst like morning on dream, or like heaven on death, Through the walls of our prison ;—

And Greece, which was dead, is arisen!


The world's great age begins anew,

The golden years return,

The earth doth like a snake renew

Her winter weeds outworn:

Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;

A new Peneus rolls his fountains

Against the morning star;

Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,

And loves, and weeps, and dies;
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.

Oh! write no more the tale of Troy,

If earth death's scroll must beNor mix with Laian rage the joy Which dawns upon the free, Although a subtler Sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew.

Another Athens shall arise,

And to remoter time

Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,

The splendour of its prime;

And leave, if nought so bright may live,
All earth can take or heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose

Shall burst, more bright and good Than all who fell, than one who rose,

Than many unsubdued :

Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,
But votive tears and symbol flowers.

Oh cease! must hate and death return?
Cease! must men kill and die?

Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn

Of bitter prophecy!

The world is weary of the past,

Oh might it die or rest at last!


P. 111.

The quenchless ashes of Milan.

MILAN was the centre of the resistance of the Lombard League against the Austrian tyrant. Frederick Barbarossa burnt the city to the ground; but liberty lived in its ashes, and it rose like an exhalation from its ruin.-See Sismondi's Histoire des Républiques Italiennes, a book which has done much towards awakening the Italians to an imitation of their great ancestors.

P. 115.

The popular notions of Christianity are represented in this chorus as true in their relation to the worship they superseded, and that which in all probability they will supersede, without considering their merits in a relation more universal. The first stanza contrasts the immortality of the living and thinking beings which inhabit the planets, and (to use a common and inadequate phrase) clothe themselves in matter, with the transience of the noblest manifestations of the external world. The concluding verses indicate a progressive state of more or less exalted existence, according to the degree of perfection which every distinct intelligence may have attained.

Let it not be supposed that I mean to dogmatize upon a subject concerning which all men are equally ignorant, or that I think the Gordian knot of the origin of evil can be disentangled by that or any similar assertions. The received hypothesis of a Being resembling men in the moral attributes of his nature having called us out of non-existence, who, after inflicting on us the misery of the commission of error, should superadd that of the punishment and the privations consequent upon it, still would remain inexplicable and incredible. That there is a true solution of the riddle, and that in our present state that solution is unattainable by us, are propositions which may be regarded as equally certain; meanwhile, as it is the province of the poet to attach himself to those ideas which exalt and ennoble humanity, let him be permitted to have conjectured the condition of that futurity towards which we are all impelled by an inextinguishable thirst for immortality. Until better arguments can be produced than sophisms which disgrace the cause, this desire itself must remain the strongest and the only presumption that eternity is the inheritance of every thinking being.

P. 116.

No hoary priests after that Patriarch.

The Greek Patriarch, after having been compelled to fulminate an anathema against the insurgents, was put to death by the Turks.

Fortunately the Greeks have been taught that they cannot buy security by degradation; and the Turks, though equally cruel, are less cunning than the smooth-faced tyrants of Europe.

As to the anathema, his Holiness might as well have thrown his mitre at Mount Athos, for any effect that it produced. The chiefs of the Greeks are almost all men of comprehension and enlightened views on religion and politics.

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