. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . e land ! They fought—like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain,They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every few surviving comrades sawHis smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ;Then saw in death his eyelids closeCalmly, as to a nights repose, Like flowers at set of sun. 22 MARCO BOZZARIS Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mothers, when she feels,For the first time, her first-
. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . e land ! They fought—like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain,They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every few surviving comrades sawHis smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ;Then saw in death his eyelids closeCalmly, as to a nights repose, Like flowers at set of sun. 22 MARCO BOZZARIS Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mothers, when she feels,For the first time, her first-borns breath; Come when the blessed sealsThat close the pestilence are broke,And crowded cities wail its stroke ;Come in consumptions 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 pall, the bier ;And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free,Thy voice sounds like a prophets word ;And in its hollow tones are heard. MARCO BOZZARIS. 23 The thanks of millions yet to , when his task of fame is wrought—Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought— Come in her crowning hour—and thenThy sunken eyes unearthly lightTo him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prisoned men:Thy grasp is welcome as the handOf brother in a foreign land ;Thy summons welcome as the cryThat 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 oer the Haytian seas. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glorys time,Rest thee—there is no prouder grave, 24 MARCO BOZZARIS Even in her own proud wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume,Like torn branch from deaths leafless treeIn sorrows pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the
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