 | The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd |  |
74
ZALONGOS
THE LAST FIGHT OF SULI
Zalongos was that mountain hight
Where Suli's star went down in night,
The star that kindled as it fell
A flame on freedom's citadel;
Which flashed across from sea to sea
The signal-fire of liberty.
Where Suli's star went down in night,
The star that kindled as it fell
A flame on freedom's citadel;
Which flashed across from sea to sea
The signal-fire of liberty.
Through twenty years of battle
They kept the dog at bay,
The dog that rules in Jannina,
And sends his sons to slay:
And never Suliote maiden,
And never captive wife,
Had sold to false Liápids
Her honour for her life;
But the pharas of the mountain
Were ever thin and few,
And traitors grow in every soil
When gold can find the clue.
He had promised peace to Suli,
The terms were meet and fair,
And when they trusted in his bond
Fell on them unaware.
There are none in Avaríkos,
In Kako-Suli none,
Kiunghi's rafters smoulder yet,
Kiápha has not one.
In Jannina in the market-place
Their heads are stacked in piles,
And Ali the dog in his palace
Counts over them and smiles.
But the last and best of Suli
Will never yield nor fly,
And these will keep Zalongos' steep
Or show the way to die.
They kept the dog at bay,
The dog that rules in Jannina,
And sends his sons to slay:
And never Suliote maiden,
And never captive wife,
Had sold to false Liápids
Her honour for her life;
But the pharas of the mountain
Were ever thin and few,
And traitors grow in every soil
When gold can find the clue.
75
The terms were meet and fair,
And when they trusted in his bond
Fell on them unaware.
There are none in Avaríkos,
In Kako-Suli none,
Kiunghi's rafters smoulder yet,
Kiápha has not one.
In Jannina in the market-place
Their heads are stacked in piles,
And Ali the dog in his palace
Counts over them and smiles.
But the last and best of Suli
Will never yield nor fly,
And these will keep Zalongos' steep
Or show the way to die.
And deadly was the fusilade
Those roving mountain marksmen made;
From clump to clump of lentisk green,
Through splintered rocks they glide unseen;
And flint and steel struck never spark
To speed the ball that missed its mark,
Yet on and on the Pasha's ranks
Drew slowly up the mountain flanks.
Those roving mountain marksmen made;
From clump to clump of lentisk green,
Through splintered rocks they glide unseen;
And flint and steel struck never spark
To speed the ball that missed its mark,
76
Drew slowly up the mountain flanks.
The rugged peaks are wild and sheer
As Suli's eagle eyries here,
With dark defiles of narrow span,
And boulder rocks that mask a man.
But what should those few hundreds do?
For not one thousand came, nor two,
But five, and ten, and thousands more
Press on where these have gone before,
Till every mountain path and spur,
And every slope of stunted fir,
And every gorge and every glen
Is swarming with the kilted men.
As Suli's eagle eyries here,
With dark defiles of narrow span,
And boulder rocks that mask a man.
But what should those few hundreds do?
For not one thousand came, nor two,
But five, and ten, and thousands more
Press on where these have gone before,
Till every mountain path and spur,
And every slope of stunted fir,
And every gorge and every glen
Is swarming with the kilted men.
From morn to noon the battle grew,
Till midday blazed from out the blue,
While hidden hands that never tire
Pour down the slope a dropping fire;
And aye, as Suli's sons retreat
They burn the scrub beneath their feet,
Till higher, higher, bare and black,
A ring that narrowed marked their track;
Yet on and on, through smoke and flame,
The hounds of Vizir Ali came.
Till midday blazed from out the blue,
While hidden hands that never tire
Pour down the slope a dropping fire;
And aye, as Suli's sons retreat
They burn the scrub beneath their feet,
Till higher, higher, bare and black,
A ring that narrowed marked their track;
77
The hounds of Vizir Ali came.
Then noon went by, and up the ridge
The sun struck ruby red,
But redder on Zalongos' side
Was the blood of Ali's dead;
Then the dark shadows deepened,
And the pale stars grew bright,
A mist rose up the gorges,
And sudden fell the night;
But still those echoes rang with cries,
Of dying men in agonies,
Wild shrieks to those who answer not,
And rattle of the musket shot.
The sun struck ruby red,
But redder on Zalongos' side
Was the blood of Ali's dead;
Then the dark shadows deepened,
And the pale stars grew bright,
A mist rose up the gorges,
And sudden fell the night;
But still those echoes rang with cries,
Of dying men in agonies,
Wild shrieks to those who answer not,
And rattle of the musket shot.
The night went by—each volley's crash,
Revealed new foemen by the flash,
And every time the flare showed red
Some mountain bullet claimed its dead;
Yet evermore the burning slope
Shut out another door of hope,
For close behind the moving flame
Fresh hordes of those Liápids came,
Till through the bloody mist and smoke
The second dawn of battle broke.
Revealed new foemen by the flash,
And every time the flare showed red
Some mountain bullet claimed its dead;
Yet evermore the burning slope
Shut out another door of hope,
For close behind the moving flame
Fresh hordes of those Liápids came,
78
The second dawn of battle broke.
Upon a high rock platform
Hard by the summit's crest,
The Suliote mothers sat and watched
Their babies at the breast;
The mountain rim dropped sheer and grim
From that high citadel
To where far down in murk and gloom
Deep furrowed runs the stream of doom
That has its source in hell.
They waited for the morning sun—
They saw the heights were lost and won,
And Suli's star, long clouded o'er,
Had set in blood for evermore;
And vain it were to suckle braves,
And end as demon Ali's slaves!
Hard by the summit's crest,
The Suliote mothers sat and watched
Their babies at the breast;
The mountain rim dropped sheer and grim
From that high citadel
To where far down in murk and gloom
Deep furrowed runs the stream of doom
That has its source in hell.
They waited for the morning sun—
They saw the heights were lost and won,
And Suli's star, long clouded o'er,
Had set in blood for evermore;
And vain it were to suckle braves,
And end as demon Ali's slaves!
What words were said, what grim debate,
No man will ever know;
The firing still rang up the rocks,
And muttered back below.
They did not weep, nor tear the hair,
Betray one gesture of despair,
But with a seeming mute accord
They rose up in a row.
Men saw each mother snatch her child
To one long clinging kiss,
A kiss to keep, a kiss to sleep,
Then fling them down the horrid deep
Of Acheron's abyss.
Their lives the mountains cradled,
Freedom the mountains gave,
So in the mountains' hollow arms
Be the free Suliote's grave!
No man will ever know;
The firing still rang up the rocks,
And muttered back below.
They did not weep, nor tear the hair,
Betray one gesture of despair,
79
They rose up in a row.
Men saw each mother snatch her child
To one long clinging kiss,
A kiss to keep, a kiss to sleep,
Then fling them down the horrid deep
Of Acheron's abyss.
Their lives the mountains cradled,
Freedom the mountains gave,
So in the mountains' hollow arms
Be the free Suliote's grave!
Their foes shall see with bated breath
How Suli's women welcome death
Unshrived of living priest,
While round their feet the muskets peal,
And overhead the vultures wheel,
Impatient for the feast.
Then linking hands one last time more
They trod the Syrtos dance of yore—
The dance that oft on eves of spring
Would draw them round its magic ring
By Kako-Suli's frowning doors
Or Avariko's threshing floors,
While weirdly chanted, shrill and strong,
Defiant rose the dancing-song.
How Suli's women welcome death
Unshrived of living priest,
While round their feet the muskets peal,
And overhead the vultures wheel,
Impatient for the feast.
Then linking hands one last time more
They trod the Syrtos dance of yore—
The dance that oft on eves of spring
Would draw them round its magic ring
By Kako-Suli's frowning doors
Or Avariko's threshing floors,
80
Defiant rose the dancing-song.
But ever as the ring wound round
Towards the bastion's outer bound,
The waving chain a moment stands,
The last unlinks her clinging hands,
And moving on in rhythmic grace
Leaps over into space.
Nor ever one looked down the edge
Of that sheer eagle-haunted ledge
To mark what trace along the steep
Of those who took the horrid leap,
But dancing to the dancing strain,
Shrill o'er the bullets' iron rain,
The last one still with tearless face
Shoots out in order from her place,
Till only ten, till five, and four
Are left to tread the measure o'er.
The foes draw near; oh, haste! make haste!
Till three, and two, and one at last,
Who, like some Mænad god-possessed,
Shrieks the wild death-song o'er the rest,
The dirge of Suli, and her own,
Then plunges headlong down, alone.
Towards the bastion's outer bound,
The waving chain a moment stands,
The last unlinks her clinging hands,
And moving on in rhythmic grace
Leaps over into space.
Nor ever one looked down the edge
Of that sheer eagle-haunted ledge
To mark what trace along the steep
Of those who took the horrid leap,
But dancing to the dancing strain,
Shrill o'er the bullets' iron rain,
The last one still with tearless face
Shoots out in order from her place,
Till only ten, till five, and four
Are left to tread the measure o'er.
The foes draw near; oh, haste! make haste!
Till three, and two, and one at last,
Who, like some Mænad god-possessed,
Shrieks the wild death-song o'er the rest,
The dirge of Suli, and her own,
Then plunges headlong down, alone.
81
And what of those who still were left
To hold the eyrie of the Klepht?
A few with Bòtzaris to guide
Shall breast and break the deathly tide,
And win to where the road is free,
Toward Parga and the island sea;
A few shall cleave a bloody path
Across the closing ring,
To venge as freedom's aftermath,
This carnage of the spring;
To sit perhaps at Byron's door,
And tell his story o'er and o'er,
To still defy the hornèd moon,
By Misolonghi's wan lagoon,
And yet may be in direr need
To man the breach and fight and bleed,
And dare another hero-deed.
To hold the eyrie of the Klepht?
A few with Bòtzaris to guide
Shall breast and break the deathly tide,
And win to where the road is free,
Toward Parga and the island sea;
A few shall cleave a bloody path
Across the closing ring,
To venge as freedom's aftermath,
This carnage of the spring;
To sit perhaps at Byron's door,
And tell his story o'er and o'er,
To still defy the hornèd moon,
By Misolonghi's wan lagoon,
And yet may be in direr need
To man the breach and fight and bleed,
And dare another hero-deed.
But thus beneath Zalongos' side
The mothers and the children died,
That Suli might not breed again
A race of less heroic men.
The mothers and the children died,
That Suli might not breed again
A race of less heroic men.
1891.
| The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd | |