The heavens are still and far; But, not unheard of awful Jove, The sighing of the island slave Was answered, when the Egean wave The keels of Mithridates clove, And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. "Robbers of Chios! hark," The victor cried, "to Heaven's decree! Drain your last cup of Chian wine; Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark." Then rose the long lament From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves: The priestess rent her hair and cried, "Woe! woe! The gods are sleeplesseyed!" And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, The lords of Chios into exile went. "The gods at last pay well," So Hellas sang her taunting song, "The fisher in his net is caught, The Chian hath his master bought "; And isle from isle, with laughter long, Took up and sped the mocking parable. Once more the slow, dumb years Our wiser lesson shall be told, Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. THE PROCLAMATION. S AINT Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds Of Ballymena, wakened with these words: "Arise, and flee Out from the land of bondage, and be free!" Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven His prison opening to their golden keys, He rose, a man who laid him down a slave, Into the glorious liberty of God. He cast the symbols of his shame away; And, passing where the sleeping Milcho lay, Smarted with wrong, he prayed, "God pardon him!" So went he forth: but in God's time he came The land a saint that lost him as a slave. O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb Waiting for God, your hour, at last, has come, And freedom's song Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! Arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint Of ages; but, like Ballymena's saint, The oppressor spare, Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. |