Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . lk not of Tear ;lie neither must know who would serve the Vizier :Since the days of our prophet the Crescent neer chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 10. Dart Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,Let the yellow-haird (riaours view his horse-tail with dread ;When his Delhis come dashing in blood oer the hanks,How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 11. Selictar ! unsheathe then our chiefs scimitar ;Tambourgi ! thy Tarum gives promise of mountains, that see us descend to the shore,Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! LXXII
Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . lk not of Tear ;lie neither must know who would serve the Vizier :Since the days of our prophet the Crescent neer chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 10. Dart Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,Let the yellow-haird (riaours view his horse-tail with dread ;When his Delhis come dashing in blood oer the hanks,How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 11. Selictar ! unsheathe then our chiefs scimitar ;Tambourgi ! thy Tarum gives promise of mountains, that see us descend to the shore,Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! LXXIII. Fail Greece ! sad relic of departed worth !Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great !A\ no now shall lead thy scatterd children forth,And long accustomd bondage uncreate 1 108 childe harolds pilgrimage CANTO II. Not such thy sons who whilome did await,The hopeless warriors of a willing doom,In bleak Thermopyhes sepulchral strait—()h ! who that gallant spirit shall resume,Leap from Eurotas banks, and call thee from the tomb ?. LXXIV. Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyles browThou satst with Thrasybulus and his train,Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which nowDims the green beauties of thine Attic plain l CANTO II. childe harolds pilgrimage L09 Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain,But every carle can lord it oer thy land ;Nor rise thy sons, hut idly rail in vain,Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand ;From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed, unmannd. LXXV. In all save form alone, how changed ! and whoThat marks the fire still sparkling in each eye,Who but would deem their bosoms burnd anewWith thy uiKuienched beam, lost Liberty !And many dream withal the hour is nighThat gives them back their fathers heritage :For foreign arms ami aid they fondly sigh,Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,Or tear their name defiled from Slaverys mournful page. LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye notWho would be free themselves must strike the blow ?By their rig
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