Classic Poem

That eye, which now beams with the brightness of mind,
By the dark clouds of sorrow erelong will be shaded;
And that cheek, where the lily and rose are intwined,
Soon, soon, to the pale hue of death must be faded.

On the red couch of battle, mid thousands of slain,
Lay thy warrior-love deeply wounded and gory;
As the last spark of life faintly glimmer'd, in pain
He conjur'd me to seek thee, and tell his sad story.

Where the foemen were thickest his falchion blaz'd high;
Where the death-din was loudest his light plumes were dancing:
His war-cry was " freedom! " Hope shone in his eye,
And deep flow'd the gore 'neath his courser's proud prancing.

" My country! " he cried, " thy redemption's at hand!
" The chains of the Moslem that bind thee we'll sever!
" We have sworn to restore thee, thou loveliest land;
" We return to the free — or return again never! "

" On! on to the battle, Greeks! charge them once more!
" Their turbans shall fly like the white foam of ocean,
" And their shrieks shall resemble the waves' angry roar,
" When the wild winds have lash'd them to furious commotion! "

" On! on to the battle once more! " was his cry,
As far flash'd his blade, and high tower'd his crest;
Ah why sinks that weapon? — what dims that bright eye?
— The ball of the foeman is deep in his breast?

From his bosom fast gushes the warm stream of life;
He falls from his courser — his warfare is ended;
Unheeded now pass'd the wild tumult of strife,
And the name of his love with his last groan was blended!

He died on the field, unlamented, unknown;
But he died for his country, for freedom, for glory!
There is rear'd o'er his relics no proud sculptur'd stone,
Yet long will his memory be hallow'd in story.

Oh weep not, fair maiden! thy warrior-love
Hath ascended in triumph to regions of bliss;
Mid his patriot-sires, in a bright world above,
His spirit will watch o'er thy safety in this!