Selections from American poetry, with special reference to Poe, Longfellow, Lowell and Whittier by Unknown
page 90 of 414 (21%)
page 90 of 414 (21%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
An hour passed on--the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last; He woke--to hear his sentries shriek, "To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" He woke--to die midst flame and smoke, And shout and groan and sabre-stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain-cloud; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: Strike--till the last armed foe expires! Strike--for your altars and your fires! Strike--for the green graves of your sires, God, and your native land!" They fought like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered--but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother's when she feels, For the first time, her first-horn's breath; Come when the blessed seals |
|