Classic Poem

Glorious spirits! ye have past;
On the ground your blood is cast,
Tower and bastion, all are won.
Round the new Thermopylæ
Lies the gore, and lies the clay,
To high heaven the soul is gone!

Flow my tears! No, let no tear
Stain the slumbers of that bier,
Till the tear of blood shall come.
None o'er you the turf must spread;
Naked lie, ye gallant dead,
Naked, wait the hour of doom.

Shame to Europe! On her ear
Night and day, and month and year,
While arose your agony;
While before the Ottoman
Christian blood in torrents ran,
She could calmly see you die!

Shame to Europe! when her hand
Could have crush'd that ruffian band,
Like the worm beneath her feet!
Let her now bemoan, bepraise,—
Will it quench your rampart's blaze?
Will it rend your winding sheet?

Gold and empire, mighty things!
What are ye when Time's wild wings
Smite ye, as he rushes on!
Down go sceptre, sword, and bust;
Babylon is dust to dust.
Rome is worthless, widow'd, lone!

But, till Earth shall groan her last,
Ne'er shall be this spot o'erpast,
Eyes shall weep, and hearts shall swell;
Aye, and flame with freedom's flame,
When is heard its fated name,
Sublime, indelible.

Down shall go your murderer's reign
Like an universal stain;
Down the turban'd head shall go.
Come the stroke from Man or Heaven,
Blood shall for your blood be given,
Woe be measured for your woe!

Mesolonghi; till the day
Of the pillar'd earth's decay,
Thou shalt be a holy shrine.
Wreck'd and ruin'd as thou art,
Consecrated to the heart,
Glory be to thee and thine!