LORD BYRON
Hark' rising to the ignoble call How answers each bold Bacchanal'
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gonc ? 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 divmc.
He served but served Polvcrates
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'
O 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 ib bown, The Hcraclcidan 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.
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