Phenix gazette. [volume] (Alexandria [D.C.]) 1825-1833, 1825-06-23
POETRY.
From the .athensum Magazine.
MARCO BOZZARIS,

MARCO BOZZARlS,
THE Epaminondas of Modern Greece.--He
fell in night attack upon the Turkish Camp
at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platra, Au-
gust 90, 1928, and expired in the moment OF
victory. His last words were-"To die tor
liberty is pleasure and not paint
At midnight, in his guarded tent
The Turk was dreaming OF the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power;
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring
Then pressed that monarch's throne,-a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay OF wing,
As Eden's garden bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suiote band;
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drank their blood
On old Platea's day;
And now there breathcd that haunted AIR
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on--the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;
He woke-to hear his sentries shrek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek"
| He woke-to die midst fame and smoke,
| And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
As Gghtnings from the mountain Clouds
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band;
ssStrike-tll the last armed foe expires,
strike-for your affairs and your fires,
Srike-for the green graves ofyour sires,
God--and your native land!"
They fought-hke brave men, long and well,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to nights repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death.
Come to the mothers, when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath;-
Come when the blessed seals
Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wall its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean Storm
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
| With banquet-song, and dance, and wine
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pail, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Ofagony are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like prophets word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of Fame is wrought
Come, with her laurelIeat, blood bought
Come in her browning hour; and then
Thy sunken eyes unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight
Ofsky and stars to prisoned men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
of brother in foreign lands
Thy summons welcome as the cry
Which told the Indian isles were nigh
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land wind, from woods of palm,
And orange groves, and fields of balm,
Blew DER the Hayden seas.
Rozzaris. with the stored brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-thcre is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud cline.
| She wore no funeral weeds for thee,
Nor babe the dark hearse wave its plume,
Like torn branch from deaths leaaess tree,
In sorrows pomp, and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb;
But she remembers thee as enc
Long loved, and for season gone.
For thee her poets Tyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
of thee her babes first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
| At palace couch, and cottage bed.