A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations, all were his ! He counted them at break of dayAnd when the sun set-where were they? And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore, The heroic lay is tuneless now- The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine! 'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Must we but weep o'er days more blest? Must we but blush? Our father's bled! Earth! render back from out thy breast, A remnant of our Spartan dead; And of three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopyla! What, silent still! and silent all? In vain-in vain: strike other chords: And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble call— How answers each bold bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, The nobler and the manlier one? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! We will not think of themes like these; It made Anacreon's song divine : He served-but served Polycrates- The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades! O! that the present hour would lend Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there perhaps some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own. Trust not for freedom to the Franks They have a king who buys and sells : In native swords and native ranks, The only hopes of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine; Our virgins dance beneath the shadeI see their glorious black eyes shine; But, gazing on each glowing maid— My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,- There, swan-like, let me sing and die; BYRON. THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. IN her ear he whispers gaily "If my heart by signs can tell, And I think thou lov'st me well." "There is none I love like thee." Presses his without reproof; And they leave her father's roof. They by parks and lodges going, From deep thought himself he rouses, Hears him lovingly converse, Lay betwixt his home and hers ; Parks with oak and chesnut shady, Parks and ordered gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state. All he shows her makes him dearer, Evermore she seems to gaze On that cottage growing nearer, [days. Where they twain would spend their O but she will love him truly! He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly, When beneath his roof they come. Thus her heart rejoices greatly, K |