Their native fastnesses not more secure | |
Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: | |
Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure, | |
When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, | |
585 | Unshaken rushing on where’er their chief may lead. |
LXVI | |
Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain’s tower | |
Thronging to war in splendour and success; | |
And after view’d them, when, within their power, | |
Himself awhile the victim of distress; | |
590 | That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: |
But these did shelter him beneath their roof, | |
When less barbarians would have cheer’d him less, | |
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof – | |
In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! | |
LXVII | |
595 | It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark |
Full on the coast of Suli’s shaggy shore, | |
When all around was desolate and dark; | |
To land was perilous, to sojourn more; | |
Yet for a while the mariners forbore, | |
600 | Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: |
At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore | |
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk | |
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. | |
LXVIII | |
Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch’d the welcome hand, | |
605 | Led them o’er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, |
Kinder than polish’d slaves though not so bland, | |
And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, | |
And fill’d the bowl, and trimm’d the cheerful lamp, | |
And spread their fare; though homely, all they had: | |
610 | Such conduct bears Philanthropy’s rare stamp – |
To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, | |
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. | |
LXIX | |
It came to pass, that when he did address | |
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, | |
615 | Combined marauders half-way barr’d egress, |
And wasted far and near with glaive and brand; | |
And therefore did he take a trusty band | |
To traverse Acarnania’s forest wide. | |
In war well season’d, and with labours tann’d, | |
620 | Till he did greet white Achelous‘ tide, |
And from his further bank Ætolia’s wolds espied. | |
LXX | |
Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, | |
And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, | |
How brown the foliage of the green hill’s grove, | |
625 | Nodding at midnight o’er the calm bay’s breast, |
As winds come lightly whispering from the west, | |
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep’s serene: – | |
Here Harold was received a welcome guest; | |
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, | |
630 | For many a joy could he from Night’s soft presence glean. |
LXXI | |
On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, | |
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, | |
And he that unawares had there ygazed | |
With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; | |
635 | For ere night’s midmost, stillest hour was past, |
The native revels of the troop began; | |
Each Palikar | |
And bounding hand in hand, man link’d to man, | |
Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan. | |
LXXII | |
640 | Childe Harold at a little distance stood |
And view’d, but not displeased, the revelrie, | |
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude: | |
In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see | |
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee; | |
645 | And, as the flames along their faces gleam’d, |
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, | |
The long wild locks that to their girdles stream’d, | |
While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream’d: – | |
I | |
Tambourgi! Tambourgi! | |
650 | Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; |
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, | |
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! | |
2 | |
Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, | |
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote? | |
655 | To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, |
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. | |
3 | |
Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive | |
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live? | |
Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? | |
660 | What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe? |
4 | |
Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; | |
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase; | |
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before | |
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o’er. | |
5 | |
665 | Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves |
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, | |
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, | |
And track to his covert the captive on shore. | |
6 | |
I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, | |
670 | My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy; |
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, | |
And many a maid from her mother shall tear. | |
7 | |
I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, | |
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe; | |
675 | Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre, |
And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. | |
8 | |
Remember the moment when Previsa fell, | |
The shrieks of the conquer’d, the conquerors’ yell; | |
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, | |
680 | The wealthy we slaughter’d, the lovely we spared. |
9 | |
I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; | |
He neither must know who would serve the Vizier: | |
Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne’er saw | |
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. | |
10 | |
685 | Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, |
Let the yellow-hair’d | |
When his Delhis | |
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! | |
II | |
Selictar! | |
690 | Tambourgi! thy ’larum gives promise of war. |
Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, | |
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more! | |
LXXIII | |
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!1 | |
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! | |
695 | Who now shall lead thy scatter’d children forth, |
And long accustom’d bondage uncreate? | |
Not such thy sons who whilome did await, | |
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, | |
In bleak Thermopylae’s sepulchral strait – | |
700 | Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, |
Leap from Eurotas’ banks, and call thee from the tomb? | |
LXXIV | |
Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle’s brow2 | |
Thou sat’st with Thrasybulus and his train, | |
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now | |
705 | Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? |
Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, | |
But every carle can lord it o’er thy land; | |
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, | |
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, | |
710 | From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, unmann’d. |
LXXV | |
In all save form alone, how changed! and who | |
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, | |
Who but would deem their bosoms burn’d anew | |
With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty! | |
715 | And many dream withal the hour is nigh |
That gives them back their fathers’ heritage: |