The storm has spent its rage, an eve of peace
Breaks o'er the bosom of thy troubled sea.
Thy Moslem tyrants totter on their thrones,
And soon would fall, but that the deadly feuds
Of Christians (shame to Europe and her sons).
Have propp'd the crumbling fabric of their pow'r.
Yes, wretched Greece! thy sons may still be free—
The manly brow, though daunted, not subdued,
The hyacinthan locks that clust'ring hang

O'er their broad shoulders, the well-moulded limb,
The graceful form, the dark eye, flashing fire,
Attest the progeny of those who bled
At Marathon, and promise future deeds
To rival the achievements of their sires.
I hear the echoes of the rustic pipe
Warbling the pleasures of a past'ral life;
I listen to the spirit-stirring ode
Calling on Sparta's children to be free.

715

720

725

O liberty and rural peace!—what more

730

Can mortals pray for? The awak'ning Muse,

Bursting the leaden slumbers which so long
Have quench'd the fire of her divinity,

Snatches her shell to sing these joyful themes,

And sweeps the chords, bending with Heav'nly smile To catch the well-known sounds. A barb'rous jar 736 Of gingling dissonance grates on her ear,

At which she starts confus'd, and from her hand

Her lyre drops unsupported to the ground.

But she shall seize it in some brighter hour,
When her long night of tyranny is past,
And the deep moanings which now swell around,
Fall faint and fainter on the passing breeze.
Then a new race of bards shall rise; the harps
Long silent, shall once more with measur'd strain
Join in the lofty chorus; skies as clear

As in their happiest age, and scenes as grand
As their own Homer once transported view'd,
Shall aid their raptures and inspire their song.
The Arts shall raise their mournful eye, the tear
Of sorrow shall be dried, save when it falls

In silent sympathy of pictur'd woe.

Again the voice of Freedom shall be heard

Amidst her cavern'd fastnesses, and hosts

740

745

750

Embattled round her spear shall guard their vales 755

From hostile insult. Greece shall smile again,
And the fair wreaths which for her youth she wove
Shall twine fresh tendrils round her aged brow.

END OF THE THIRD PART.

NOTES

AND

ILLUSTRATIONS.