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LXXII.
Childe Harold at a little distance stood
And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie,
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude :
In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ;
And, as the flames along their faces gleam’d,
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free,

The long wild locks that to their girdles stream’d, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half

scream'd:

SONG.

1
TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi !* thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!

2
Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ?
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock,

3
Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?
Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego ?
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?

Drummer.

4 Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.

5 Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, And track to his covert the captive on shore.

6 I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy; Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, And many a maid from her mother shall tear.

7 I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe ; 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, The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell; The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared.

[graphic]

LXXIV.
Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow
Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train,
Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain?
No thirty tyrants now enforce the chain,
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land;
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,

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
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye,
Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew
With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty!
And many dream withal the hour is nigh
That gives them back their fathers' heritage :
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh,

Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page.

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 Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest The 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 toil.

LXXVIII.
Yet mark their mirth—ere lenten days begin
That penance which their holy rites prepare
To shrive for man his weight of mortal sin,
By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ;
But cre his sackcloth garb Repentance wear,
Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all,
To take of pleasance each his secret share,

In motley robe to dance at masking ball,
And join the mimic train of merry Carnival.

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.

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