« PreviousContinue »
The heavens are still and far; But, not unheard of awful Jove,
The sighing of the island slave
Was answered, when the Ægean 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 !
Pluck your last cluster from the vine,
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
The priestess rent her hair and cried,
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 Bring their avenging cycle round,
And, more than Hellas taught of old,
Our wiser lesson shall be told, Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their
blood and tears.
AINT Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds
“ Arise, and flee Out from the land of bondage, and be free !”
Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven
And, wondering, sees
He rose, a man who laid him down a slave,
And outward trod
He cast the symbols of his shame away;
Though back and limb
So went he forth : but in God's time he came
And, dying, gave
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
The oppressor spare,