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Like leviathans afloat,
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
Of the sun.
Again ! again ! again!
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
To our King.”—
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
Now joy, Old England, raise !
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Of the brave !
i Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his despatches.
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.
| Marco Bozzaris was a leader of the Greeks in the late revolutionary war: he was killed in the assault of a Turkish camp. The circumstances of his fall are thus described by Mr. Gordon, in his admirable History of the Greek Revolution :-"In a council of war, held on the 20th, Mark Bozzaris pointed out the impossibility of keeping the foe in check by demonstrations; or of spinning out the campaign, becanse they were in want of provisions and ammunition; and he therefore insisted on the necessity of hazarding, without delay, a desperate attack: his generous proposition was approved, and the execution fixed for the following night. Their troops being divided into three columns, Bozzaris undertook to lead the centre; George Kizzos, the two Tzavellas (uncle and nephew), the captains of Karpenisi, and the Khiliarch Yakis, headed one wing; the other, formed of the soldiers of Agrafa and Souvalakos, was intrusted to the command of a Souliote, named Fotos: the onset was to commence at five hours after sunset, and their watchword to be Stornari (or flint). Having waited a quarter of an hour beyond the appointed time, to allow the wings to come up, and perceiving no signs of them, Mark, with three hundred and fifty men, entered Jeladin Bey's camp, and finding the Scodrians asleep, made a terrible slaughter of them. If all the Greeks had behaved like the Souliotes, the result would have been a complete victory.
The Souliotes, using their swords after their first discharge of fire-arms, drove the Mirdites from all their tambonrias, except one within an enclosure, which Bozzaris assaulted in vain. Wounded by a shot in the loins, he concealed that accident, and continued to fight, until a ball struck him in the face; he fell, and instantly expired. The action lasted for an hour and a half longer, but their leader's death becoming known, and day beginning to dawn, the Souliotes retreated to their original position at Mikrokhori, carrying off with them their general's body."
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
Heroes in heart and hand.
On old Platæa's day:
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on-the Turk awoke:
That bright dream was his last;
Bozzaris cheer his band :
God- and your native land !"
They fought-like brave men, long and well ;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain ;
Bleeding at every vein.
And the red field was won ;
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death !
Come to the mother, when she feels For the first time her first-born's breath ;
Come when the blessed seals Which close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ;Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, And thou art terrible: the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee—there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.