What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no; the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise we come, we come!"
'Tis but the living who are dumb.

In vain in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call
How answers each bold bacchanal !
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone!
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave
Think ye he meant them for a slave ?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these:

It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served but served Polycrates

A tyrant; but our masters then

Were still, at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend;

That tyrant was Miltiades!

Oh! that the present hour would lend

Another despot of the kind!

Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,

Exists the remnant of a line

Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.

Trust not for freedom to the Franks-
They have a king who buys and sells ;
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine,
Our virgins dance beneath the shade-
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep-
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

THE SULTANA GULBEYAZ.

When he was gone, there was a sudden change:
I know not what might be the lady's thought,
But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange,

And into her clear cheek the blood was brought, Blood-red as sun-set summer clouds which range

The verge of heaven; and in her large eyes wrought A mixture of sensations might be scanned, Of half voluptuousness and half command.

Her form had all the softness of her sex,
Her features all the sweetness of the devil,
When he put on the cherub to perplex

Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil; The sun himself was scarce more free from specks

Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil; Yet somehow there was something somewhere wanting, As if she rather order'd than was granting.

Something imperial, or imperious, threw

A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain
Was thrown as 'twere about the neck of you-
And rapture's self will seem almost a pain
With aught which looks like despotism in view:
Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain
We would against them make the flesh obey-
The spirit in the end will have its way.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;
Her very nod was not an inclination;

There was a self-will even in her small feet,
As though they were quite conscious of her station-
They trod as upon necks; and to complete
Her state, (it is the custom of her nation)

A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign

She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven, not mine.)

"To hear and to obey" had been from birth The law of all around her; to fulfil

All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth,

Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will: Her blood was high, her beauty scarce of earth: Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood still; Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion We should have found out the " perpetual motion."

Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought;
Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed
It might be seen, with diligence was sought,

And when 'twas found straightway the bargain There was no end unto the things she bought, [closed: Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused;

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardon'd all except her face.

HAIDEE DISCOVERING JUAN.

There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave:
And there he lay, full length, where he was flung,
Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,
With just enough of life to feel its pain,
And deem that it was saved, perhaps, in vain.
With slow and staggering effort he arose,
But sunk again upon his bleeding knee
And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those
Who long had been his mates upon the sea,
But none of them appear'd to share his woes,
Save one, a corpse, from out the famish'd three,
Who died two days before, and now had found
An unknown barren beach for burial ground.
And, as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast,

And down he sunk; and as he sunk, the sand
Swam round and round, and all his senses passed:
He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand
Droop'd dripping on the oar (their jury mast),
And, like a wither'd lily, on the land
His slender frame and pallid aspect lay,
As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay.

How long in his damp trance young Juan lay
He knew not, for the earth was gone for him,
And Time had nothing more of night nor day
For his congealing blood, and senses dim:
And how this heavy faintness passed away

He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb, And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life, For death, though vanquish'd, still retired with strife.

His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed,

For all was doubt and dizziness; methought He still was in the boat, and had but dozed, And felt again with his despair o'erwrought, And wish'd it death in which he had reposed,

And then once more his feelings back were brought, And slowly by his swimming eyes were seen A lovely female face of seventeen.

'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;

And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;
And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.

Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung
Around his scarce clad limbs; and the fair arm
Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung;

And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm,
Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung

His dewy curls long drench'd by every storm; And watched with eagerness each throb that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom and hers too.