IV.

A voice of multitudes is on the breeze,

Remote, yet solemn as the night-storm's roar,
Through Ida's giant-pines! Across the seas
A murmur comes, like that the deep winds bore
From Tempè's haunted river to the shore
Of the reed-crown'd Eurotas; when, of old,

Dark Asia sent her battle-myriads o'er

Th' indignant wave which would not be controll'd, But, past the Persian's chain, in boundless freedom roll'd.

V.

And it is thus again!-Swift oars are dashing

The parted waters, and a light is cast

On their white foam-wreaths, from the sudden flashing Of Tartar spears, whose ranks are thickening fast. There swells a savage trumpet on the blast,

A music of the deserts, wild and deep,

Wakening strange echoes, as the shores are past
Where low midst Ilion's dust her conquerors sleep,

O'ershadowing with high names each rude sepulchral heap.

VI.

War from the West!-the snows on Thracian hills

Are loosed by Spring's warm breath; yet o'er the lands Which Hamus girds, the chainless mountain rills Pour down less swiftly than the Moslem bands. War from the East!-midst Araby's lone sands, More lonely now the few bright founts may be, While Ismael's bow is bent in warrior-hands Against the Golden City of the sea1: -Oh! for a soul to fire thy dust, Thermopyla!

VII.

Hear yet again, ye mighty!—Where are they,
Who, with their green Olympic garlands crown'd,
Leap'd up, in proudly beautiful array,

As to a banquet gathering, at the sound
Of Persia's clarion?-Far and joyous round,
From the pine-forests, and the mountain-snows,

And the low sylvan valleys, to the bound

Of the bright waves, at Freedom's voice they rose! -Hath it no thrilling tone to break the tomb's repose?

VIII.

They slumber with their swords!-The olive-shades

In vain are whispering their immortal tale!

In vain the spirit of the past pervades

The soft winds, breathing through each Grecian vale.
-Yet must Thou wake, though all unarm'd and pale,
Devoted City!-Lo! the Moslem's spear,

Red from its vintage, at thy gates; his sail
Upon thy waves, his trumpet in thine ear!

-Awake! and summon those, who yet, perchance, may hear!

IX.

Be hush'd, thou faint and feeble voice of weeping! Lift ye the banner of the Cross on high, And call on chiefs, whose noble sires are sleeping In their proud graves of sainted chivalry, Beneath the palms and cedars, where they sigh To Syrian gales!-The sons of each brave line, From their baronial halls shall hear your cry, And seize the arms which flash'd round Salem's shrine, And wield for you the swords once waved for Palestine!

X.

All still, all voiceless!—and the billow's roar Alone replies!-Alike their soul is gone, Who shared the funeral-feast on Eta's shore, And theirs, that o'er the field of Ascalon Swell'd the crusader's hymn!-Then gird thou on Thine armour, Eastern Queen! and meet the hour Which waits thee ere the day's fierce work is done With a strong heart; so may thy helmet tower Unshiver'd through the storm, for generous hope is power!

XI.

But linger not,-array thy men of might!

The shores, the seas, are peopled with thy foes.

Arms through thy cypress groves are gleaming bright, And the dark huntsmen of the wild, repose

Beneath the shadowy marble porticoes

Of thy proud villas. Nearer and more near,
Around thy walls the sons of battle close;

Each hour, each moment, hath its sound of fear,
Which the deep grave alone is charter'd not to hear.

XII.

Away! bring wine, bring odours, to the shade 2, Where the tall pine and poplar blend on high! Bring roses, exquisite, but soon to fade! Snatch every brief delight,-since we must die!Yet is the hour, degenerate Greeks! gone by, For feast in vine-wreath'd bower, or pillar'd hall; Dim gleams the torch beneath yon fiery sky, And deep and hollow is the tambour's call, And from the startled hand th' untasted cup will fall.

XIII.

The night, the glorious oriental night,
Hath lost the silence of her purple heaven,
With its clear stars! The red artillery's light,
Athwart her worlds of tranquil splendor driven,
To the still firmament's expanse hath given

Its own fierce glare, wherein each cliff and tower
Starts wildly forth; and now the air is riven

With thunder-bursts, and now dull smoke-clouds low'r, Veiling the gentle moon, in her most hallow'd hour.