THE MARTYR OF SCIO.
Bright Summer breathed in Scio. Gay she hung
Her coronal upon the olive boughs,
Flushed the rich clusters on the ripening vines,
And shook fresh fragrance from the citron groves
'Till every breeze was satiate. But the sons
Of that fair isle bore winter in their soul,
For 'mid the temples of their ancestors,
And through the weeping mastic bowers, their step
Was like the man who hears the oppressor's voice
In Nature's softest echo. The stern Turk
In sullen domination idly roamed
Where mighty Homer awed the listening world.
Once to the proud Divan, with stately step
A youth drew near: Surpassing beauty sate
Upon his princely brow, and from his eye
A glance like lightning parted as he spake.
"I had a jewel. From my sires it came
In long transmission; and upon my soul
There was a bond to keep it for my sons.
Tis gone, and in its place a false one shines.
I ask for justice."
Brandishing aloft
His naked scimitar, the Cadi cried
"By Allah and his Prophet! guilt like this
Shall feel the avenger's stroke. Show me the wretch
Who robbed thy casket."
Then the appellant tore
The turban from his head, and cast it down;
