Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene:— Here Harold was received a welcome guest; Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. LXXI. On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, Each Palikar 29) his sabre from him cast, 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, scream'd: 30) 1. half 31) 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, *) Drummer. = 3. Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive 4. Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; 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, And many a maid from her mother shall tear. 7. I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, lyre, And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. Remember the moment when Previsa fell, 32) 9. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; He neither must know who would serve the Vizier: 10. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, Let the yellow-hair'd *) Giaours **) view his horse. tail *** with dread; When his Delhis †) come dashing in blood o'er the banks, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! 11. Selictar! ††) unsheathe then our chief's scimitar > LXXIII. Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!35) 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 Thermopylae's sepulchral straitOh! 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 34) Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not 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. **) Infidel. *) Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. *** Horse-tails are the insignia of a Pacha. t) Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. ††) Sword-bearer. LXXV. In all save form alone, how changed! and who 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, Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; 35) LXXVIII. Yet mark their mirth-ere lenten days begin, Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all, To take of pleasaunce 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, As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd 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 they lave. 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, Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, |