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But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before
The sabre is sheath'd and the battle is o'er.

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.

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.

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.

Remember the moment when Previsa fell,
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 spared.

I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear;

He neither must know who would serve the Vizier;
Since the days of our proplet the Crescent ne'er saw
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pacha.

Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,

Let the yellow-hair'd* Giaours † view his horse-tail ‡ with

dread;

* Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. Horse-tails are the insignia of a Pacha.

+ Infidel.

When his Delhis* come dashing in blood o'er the banks,
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks!

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!

THE SULIOTE MOTHER.

Mrs. Hemans.

Various writers on Modern Greece have related the fate of those Suliote women, who threw themselves, with their infants, from the precipices of their mountainous territory, on the conquest and approach of Ali Pacha. One of those narrators adds, that a wild song was chaunted by the mothers before committing the act of desperation.

SHE stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the dark blue sky;

A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.

"Dost thou see them, boy?-through the dusky pines
Dost thou see where the foemen's armour shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe! that I cradled on my breast!

Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy?
That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!"

* Horsemen, answering to our forlorn bope.

+ Sword-bearer.

N

For in the rocky strait beneath,

Lay Suliote sire and son;

They had heap'd high the piles of death,
Before the pass was won.

"They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come! Woe for the mountain-hearth and home!

There, where the hunter laid by his spear,

There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear,
There, where I sang thee, fair babe, to sleep,
Nought but the blood-stain our trace shall keep!"

And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
And now the cymbal's clang,

Till even the upper air was stirr'd,
As cliffs and hollows rang.

"Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild?
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire,

As if at a glimpse of thine armed sire?

-Still!-be thou still!—there are brave men lowThou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!"

But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swell'd the horn,
And farther yet the tambour's peal
Through the dark pass was borne.

"Hear'st thou the sounds of their savage mirth?
Boy, thou wert free when I gave thee birth!
Free, and how cherish'd! my warrior's son!
He, too, hath bless'd thee, as I have done.
Ay, and unchain'd must his loved ones be-
Freedom, young Suliote, for me and thee!"

And from the arrowy peak she sprung,

And fast the fair child bore:

A veil upon the wind was flung-
A cry-and all was o'er!

WOMAN.

Anonymous.

GONE from her cheek is the summer bloom,
And her breath has lost all its faint perfume,
And the gloss hath dropp'd from her golden hair,
And her forehead is pale, though no longer fair.

And the spirit that sate on her soft blue eye
Is struck with cold mortality;

And the smile that play'd on her lip hath fled,
And every grace hath now left the dead.

Like slaves they obey'd her in height of power,
But left her all in her wintry hour;

And the crowds that swore for her love to die,
Shrank from the tone of her last sad sigh-
And this is man's fidelity.

'Tis woman alone, with a firmer heart,
Can see all these idols of life depart,

And love the more, and soothe, and bless
Man in his utter wretchedness.

OH, KEEP THE RING!

To a Friend about to marry a second time.

Anonymous.

Oн, keep the ring one little year

Keep poor Eliza's ring,

And shed on it the silent tear,

In secret sorrowing.

Thy lips, on which her last, last kiss
Yet lingers moist and warm,
Oh, wipe them not for newer bliss,
Oh, keep it as a charm.

These haunts are sacred to her love,
Here still her presence dwells;
Of her the grot, of her the grove,
Of her the garden tells.

Beneath these elms you sate and talk'd,

Beside that river's brink,

At evening, arm-in-arm you walk'd,-]

Here stopt to gaze and think.

Thou'lt meet her when thy blood beats high

In converse with thy bride,

Meet the mild meaning of an eye

That never learnt to chide.

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