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T midnight, in his guarded tent,
 * The Turk was dreaming of the hour

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
 * Should tremble at his power:

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror;
 * In dreams his song of triumph heard;

Then wore his monarch’s signet ring: Then pressed that monarch’s throne—a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
 * As Eden’s garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades,
 * Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,

True as the steel of their tried blades,
 * Heroes in heart and hand.

There had the Persian’s thousands stood,