Psara
OR, THE OTTOMAN'S SONG OF VICTORY
Psara.
" El Allah! to the Prophet be the glory and the praise!
Victory is ours: here on this rock our standards let us raise;
Vainly would its defenders immortalize their fall
By crumbling o'er their fated heads the heavy-bastioned wall.
Yes, Victory hath declared for us; and our terrific steel
Upon the Cross, for all its crimes, due punishment shall deal;
This race invincible 't were well to root out, branch and stem:
No Kings in Christendom will stir to take revenge for them!
" What! Chios, couldst thou not contrive one single soul to save,
Who hither might have come, of all thy tales of woe to rave?
Then Psara trembling might have bent low at her master's knees:
But now, thy sons, thy palaces, thy hamlets — where are these?
When in thy rebel isle, bestrewn with thousands of the dead,
The Pestilence that 'mid them stalked our soldiers saw witl dread,
Its aid alone thy dying sons would venture to bespeak:
No Kings in Christendom, they knew, for them would vengeance wreak!
" But, lo, the pleasant festivals of Chios are renewed;
Psara succumbs — behold around, her best defenders strewed:
Come, reckon up the gory heap of heads, that yonder lies
In the seraglio, to greet the Christian envoys' eyes
Ho, for the pillage of these walls! for beauty, wine, and gold!
Outrage, O virgins, will improve your charms a hundredfold;
When all is o'er, the sword from taint shall purge your souls anew:
No Kings in Christendom will stir to take revenge for you!
" Europe, herself to slavery condemned, in thought had said,
" Here let a nation, to be formed of freemen, rear its head!"
But quick a cry, " Peace, peace!" is heard in tones that anger bode;
'Tis from the Chiefs whom God in scorn on Europe hath bestowed
Bad was the pattern Byron set — with danger was it fraught;
So to their lips his early death a smile of pleasure brought
Christ's very temple for the scene of foul abuse let's take:
No Kings in Christendom will think of vengeance for His sake!
" Thus not an obstacle is left, our fury to withstand;
Psara exists no longer — God blots it from the land.
The victor, taking his repose 'mid ruins round him spread,
Sees in his dreams the gushing streams of blood he still must shed:
Oh! that the remnant of the Greeks, some day, Stamboul may see
Hung from the yard-arms of our ships — and hail with frantic glee!
For Greece herself — we'll bid her slink, back to her ancient tomb:
No Kings in Christendom will think of vengeance for her doom! "
'Twas thus the horde of savages their hymn of triumph sang;
When hark! " the Greeks! the Greeks! " a cry of terror 'mid them rang
The fleet of Hellas to the isle hath sudden found its way,
And for the flood of Psara's blood the Mussulman must pay
But O ye Greeks, united be! or traitors, more than one,
Astray will lead you, though a course of triumph ye may run;
Nations, perchance, if fall ye must, to loud lament might wake:
No Kings in Christendom would stir to vengeance for your sake!
Psara.
" El Allah! to the Prophet be the glory and the praise!
Victory is ours: here on this rock our standards let us raise;
Vainly would its defenders immortalize their fall
By crumbling o'er their fated heads the heavy-bastioned wall.
Yes, Victory hath declared for us; and our terrific steel
Upon the Cross, for all its crimes, due punishment shall deal;
This race invincible 't were well to root out, branch and stem:
No Kings in Christendom will stir to take revenge for them!
" What! Chios, couldst thou not contrive one single soul to save,
Who hither might have come, of all thy tales of woe to rave?
Then Psara trembling might have bent low at her master's knees:
But now, thy sons, thy palaces, thy hamlets — where are these?
When in thy rebel isle, bestrewn with thousands of the dead,
The Pestilence that 'mid them stalked our soldiers saw witl dread,
Its aid alone thy dying sons would venture to bespeak:
No Kings in Christendom, they knew, for them would vengeance wreak!
" But, lo, the pleasant festivals of Chios are renewed;
Psara succumbs — behold around, her best defenders strewed:
Come, reckon up the gory heap of heads, that yonder lies
In the seraglio, to greet the Christian envoys' eyes
Ho, for the pillage of these walls! for beauty, wine, and gold!
Outrage, O virgins, will improve your charms a hundredfold;
When all is o'er, the sword from taint shall purge your souls anew:
No Kings in Christendom will stir to take revenge for you!
" Europe, herself to slavery condemned, in thought had said,
" Here let a nation, to be formed of freemen, rear its head!"
But quick a cry, " Peace, peace!" is heard in tones that anger bode;
'Tis from the Chiefs whom God in scorn on Europe hath bestowed
Bad was the pattern Byron set — with danger was it fraught;
So to their lips his early death a smile of pleasure brought
Christ's very temple for the scene of foul abuse let's take:
No Kings in Christendom will think of vengeance for His sake!
" Thus not an obstacle is left, our fury to withstand;
Psara exists no longer — God blots it from the land.
The victor, taking his repose 'mid ruins round him spread,
Sees in his dreams the gushing streams of blood he still must shed:
Oh! that the remnant of the Greeks, some day, Stamboul may see
Hung from the yard-arms of our ships — and hail with frantic glee!
For Greece herself — we'll bid her slink, back to her ancient tomb:
No Kings in Christendom will think of vengeance for her doom! "
'Twas thus the horde of savages their hymn of triumph sang;
When hark! " the Greeks! the Greeks! " a cry of terror 'mid them rang
The fleet of Hellas to the isle hath sudden found its way,
And for the flood of Psara's blood the Mussulman must pay
But O ye Greeks, united be! or traitors, more than one,
Astray will lead you, though a course of triumph ye may run;
Nations, perchance, if fall ye must, to loud lament might wake:
No Kings in Christendom would stir to vengeance for your sake!
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