Search for him now, where bloodiest lie the files
Which once were men, the faithful and the brave!
Search for him now, where loftiest rise the piles
Of shatter'd helms and shields, which could not save;
And crests and banners, never more to wave
In the free winds of heaven!- He is of those
O'er whom the host may rush, the tempest rave,
And the steeds trample, and the spearmen close,
Yet wake them not !-so deep their long and last repose!
Woe to the vanquish'd! thus it hath been still,
Since Time's first march !-Hark, hark, a people's cry!
Ay! now the conquerors in the streets fulfil
Their task of wrath! In vain the victims fly!
Hark! now each piercing tone of agony
Blends in the city's shriek !-The lot is cast.
Slaves, 'twas your choice, thus, rather thus, to die,
Than where the warrior's blood flows warm and fast,
And roused and mighty hearts beat proudly to the last!
Oh! well doth Freedom battle !-Men have made,
E'en midst their blazing roofs, a noble stand,
And on the floors where once their children play'd,
And by the hearths, round with their household band
At evening met; ay! struggling hand to hand,
Within the very chambers of their sleep,
There have they taught the spoilers of the land
In chainless hearts what fiery strength lies deep,
To guard free homes !—but ye! kneel, tremblers! kneel, and weep!
'Tis eve-the storm hath died-the valiant rest
Low on their shields; the day's fierce work is done,
And blood-stain'd seas and burning towers attest
Its fearful deeds. An empire's race is run!
Sad, midst his glory looks the parting sun
Upon the captive city. Hark! a swell
(Meet to proclaim barbaric war-fields won)
Of fierce triumphal sounds, that wildly tell,
The Soldan comes within the Cæsars' halls to dwell!
Yes! with the peal of cymbal and of gong,
He comes, the Moslem treads those ancient halls!
But all is stillness there, as Death had long
Been lord alone within those gorgeous walls.
And half that silence of the grave appals
The conqueror's heart. Ay, thus with Triumph's hour,
Still comes the boding whisper, which recalls
A thought of those impervious clouds that low'r
O'er Grandeur's path, a sense of some far mightier Power
"The owl upon Afrasiab's towers hath sung
Her watch-song, and around th' imperial throne
The spider weaves his web!" 21 Still darkly hung
That verse of omen, as a prophet's tone,
O'er his flush'd spirit. Years on years have flown
To prove its truth: kings pile their domes in air
That the coil'd snake may bask on sculptured stone,
And nations clear the forest, to prepare
For the wild fox and wolf more stately dwellings there!
But thou! that on thy ramparts proudly dying,
As a crown'd leader in such hours should die,
Upon thy pyre of shiver'd spears art lying,
With the heavens o'er thee for a canopy,
And banners for thy shroud !-No tear, no sigh,
Shall mingle with thy dirge; for thou art now
Beyond vicissitude! Lo! rear'd on high,
The Crescent blazes, while the Cross must bow;
But where no change can reach-there, Constantine, art thou!
66 After life's fitful fever thou sleep'st well!"
We may not mourn thee!-Sceptred chiefs, from whom
The earth received her destiny, and fell
Before them trembling-to a sterner doom
Have oft been call'd. For them the dungeon's gloom,
With its cold, starless midnight, hath been made More fearful darkness, where, as in a tomb, Without a tomb's repose, the chain bath weigh'd Their very soul to dust, with each high power decay'd.
Or in the eye of thousands they have stood,
To meet the stroke of Death-but not like thee!
From bonds and scaffolds hath appeal'd their blood,
But thou didst fall unfetter'd, arm'd, and free,
And kingly, to the last!-And if it be,
That, from the viewless world, whose marvels none
Return to tell, a spirit's eye can see
The things of earth; still may'st thou hail the sun,
Which o'er thy land shall dawn, when Freedom's fight is
And the hour comes, in storm !—A light is glancing
Far through the forest-god's Arcadian shades!
'Tis not the moonbeam, tremulously dancing,
Where lone Alpheus bathes his haunted glades;
A murmur, gathering power, the air pervades,
Round dark Citharon, and by Delphi's steep;
-'Tis not the song and lyre of Grecian maids,
Nor pastoral reed that lulls the vales to sleep,
Nor yet the rustling pines, nor yet the sounding deep;
Arms glitter on the mountains, which, of old,
Awoke to freedom's first heroic strain,
And by the streams, once crimson as they roll'd
The Persian helm and standard to the main ;
And the blue waves of Salamis again
Thrill to the trumpet; and the tombs reply,
With their ten thousand echoes, from each plain,
Far as Platæa's, where the mighty lie,
Who crown'd so proudly there the bowl of liberty !29
Bright land, with glory mantled o'er by song!
Land of the vision-peopled hills and streams,
And fountains, whose deserted banks along,
Still the soft air with inspiration teems;
Land of the graves, whose dwellers shall be themes
To verse for ever; and of ruin'd shrines,
That scarce look desolate beneath such beams,
As bathe in gold thine ancient rocks and pines !-
When shall thy sons pose in peace beneath their vines?
Thou wert not made for bonds, nor shame, nor fear!-
Do the hoar oaks and dark-green laurels wave
O'er Mantinea's earth ?-doth Pindus rear
His snows, the sunbeam and the storm to brave?
And is there yet on Marathon a grave?
And doth Eurotas lead his silvery line
By Sparta's ruins ?—And shall man, a slave,
Bow'd to the dust, amid such scenes repine?
-If e'er a soil was mark'd for Freedom's step-'tis thine!
Wash from that soil the stains, with battle-showers!
-Beneath Sophia's dome the Moslem prays,
The Crescent gleams amidst the olive-bowers,
In the Comneni's 23 halls the Tartar sways:
But not for long !—the spirit of those days,
When the three hundred made their funeral pile
Of Asia's dead, is kindling, like the rays
Of thy rejoicing sun, when first his smile
Warms the Parnassian rock, and gilds the Delian isle.
If then 'tis given thee to arise in might,
Trampling the scourge, and dashing down the chain,
Pure be thy triumphs, as thy name is bright!
The cross of victory should not know a stain !
So may that faith once more supremely reign,
Through which we lift our spirits from the dust!
And deem not, e'en when virtue dies in vain,
She dies forsaken; but repose our trust
On Him whose ways are dark, unsearchable—but just.
THE army of Mahomet II., at the siege of Constantinople, was thronged with fanatics of all sects and nations, who were not enrolled amongst the regular troops. The Sultan himself marched upon the city from Adrianople; but his army must have been principally collected in the Asiatic provinces, which he had previously visited.
Huc vina, et unguenta, et nimium brevis
Flores amœnæ ferre jube rosæ.
From the Seven Towers, &c.
The Castle of the Seven Towers is mentioned in the Byzantine history, as early as the sixth century of the Christian era, as an edifice which contributed materially to the defence of Constantinople; and it was the principal bulwark of the town on the coast of the Propontis in the later periods of the empire. For a description of this building, see 'Pouqueville's Travels."
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