The Portland gazette. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1818-1824, 1824-07-20
POETRY.

,rHos, Il cannot be denied that be was a mo
incere and hearty well wisher 70 the Iiberii
4 mankind. This Is elearly enough evineed
many parts u BITS works, where the soande
'rineiples Of civil kberty are embodied and e
creed Ia tbs pure spirit Of poetic feeling Il
ordship has always taken lively interest in q
lliairs Of GRrrcE and some Of the finest appe'
% the pride and patriotism Of her sons, whi
xere written before the commencement Of 4
revolution IN that country, may be found sci
isred through his works The circumstances
he latter part Of his life add peculiar inter,
10 the following Song Of the Grecian Bard,
Don Juan, which We have always admired, DO
Tor It's poetry aud sentiment
The isles Of Greece the ISLES Of Greece
Where burning Sappho loved aud sung,
Where grew the arts q war aud peace
Where Delos rose, and PhGbus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except Gheir sun, h set
The scian and the Teian muse,
The here's harp, the lovers lutte.
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their pace 81 biuh alone Is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' Islands Of the Blsst"
The mountains look on Marathon
Aud Marathon looks on the sea
And musinE there an hour alone
] df.rama that Greece might sJill be free
FoT standing on the Persian's grave.
| could not deem myself slave.
A King sat on the rocky brow
Which lacks DER sea-b0rn Salamis
And ships By thousands lay below
And men in nations all were his
He counted them az break Of Say
And when the sun set, where were thel
And where arc they and where art thou.
Ny country On thy voiosless shore
The heroic Jay rs tuheless soy
The heroic bosom beats no more
And must thy lyfe 50 long divine.
Degenerate into hands like mine
It's something. in the dearth Of fame.
Though ltnkd among fetterd race,
To feel az least 4 patriots shame,
Even as sing. suiflse my face
For what is lett the poet here
Fog Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear
Must we but weep DER days more blest.
Must we bat blush Our fathers bled
Earth render back from out thy breast
A remnant Of our Spartan dead
or the three hundred grant but three,
To make new Thcmopyle
What silent still : and silent an ?
All no the voices Of the dead
Sound like distant torrents fan,
And answer, - Let one living head.
But one arise,--we come we come -
It's but the living who are dumb.
10 vain--in vain--sirike other chords
tIll high the cup with Samisn wine
Leave battles TO the Turkish hordes,
Aud shed the blood OF Scio's vine
Hank rising 70 the ignoble call
How answers each bold bacchanall
You have the Pyrrhic dance a yet,
Where IS the Pyuhic phalanx gone
OF two such lessons, why forget
The noblet and The manliorone
You have the letters Cadmus gave
Think ye he meant them for a slave
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine
We will net think Of themes like these
u made Auacreon's song divine
He ssSved-but served Polycrates-
tyrant but our masters then
Were still, atleast, sur countrymen.
The tyrant or the Cherohese
Was freedoms best and bravest friend
That iyrant was Mitiades;
Oh! that the present hour would lend
Another despol Of the kind
Such chains as his were sure 10 bind.
FIJI high the bowl with Samian wine
On Sul's rock, and Parga's shore.
Exists the remnant Of line
Such the Dofic mothers bore
And there per-a ps,some seed is sown,
The Neracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom 70 the Franks
They have a king who buys and sells
In native swords and native ranks.
The only hope Of courage dwells;
But Turkish forge, and latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the howl with Samian wine
Our virgins dance beneath the shade
see their glorious black eyes shine
But gazing on each glowing maid,
NV own the burning lear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Place me on Sunium's narbled steep,
Where nothing. save the waves and |,
Nav hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There swan-like let me sing and die
A land az slaves shail nefer ne min 2