THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE.
21
THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE.[1]
Fear!—I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death?
A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom?
******
I will not live degraded.
Sardanapolus.
Come from the woods with the citron-flowers,
Come with your lyres for the festal hours,
Maids of bright Scio! They came, and the breeze
Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas;—
They came, and Eudora stood rob'd and crown'd,
The bride of the morn, with her train around.
- ↑ Founded on a circumstance related in the Second Series of the Curiosities of Literature, and forming part of a picture in the "Painted Biography" there described.
