 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
95
THE SULIOTE.
I
I live for Immortality,And Time to me is nought;
Death hath no torture for the free,
No power with terror fraught!
Beyond the fetter and the brand,
The tyrant's red control;
I seek the everlasting land!—
The Sabbath of the Soul!
II
Ye urge me to betray the friends,For whose brave blood ye thirst;
Show me the bribe your tyrant sends
To purchase deed so curst!
Display the wealthy argosy,
This treachery to win;
To blast the counsels of the free—
And steep my name in sin!
96
III
Away! the gold was never foundThat yet might shake my faith:
Bring—bring your felon racks around—
A Suliote fears not death!—
His home is like the eagle's nest,
Inviolate and high;
Freedom the idol of his breast,
For which 'tis dear to die!
IV
List!—'tis the war-cry of the brave!Hear ye that thrilling cheer?—
They come—whose every step's a grave,
For each assembled here!
Marshall your stern and countless hordes!
Oh, vain and powerless show!
There lives a spirit in our swords
That slavery ne'er may know!
V
Off!—I have heard a voice that fillsWith treble strength these veins;
Back,—back!—the fire that lights our hills
Shall melt the tyrant's chains!
God of the Just! be thou my shield!
My fate be in thy hand!—
He dashed amidst the hostile field,—
He gained his native land!
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