Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/188

188 Louder swells the battle-cry; God of Christians! from the sky Behold the Turk's accursed host Come rushing in.—'T is lost!—'T is lost!— Ye bold defenders, die!— O thou, who sang'st of Ilion's walls the fate, Unseal thy blinded orbs, thine own are desolate.

The stifled sob of mighty souls Rises on the glowing air, And the vow of vengeance rolls, Mingled with the dying prayer, "Now, by the spirits of the brave,   Sires, who rode on glory's wave,     By red Scio's wrongs and groans,     By Ipsara's unburied bones.     Our foes beneath these reeking stones.                Shall find a grave." —

Earth heaves, as if she gorged again Usurping Korah's rebel train. She heaves, with blast more wild and loud, Than when with trump of thunders proud, The electric flame subdues the cloud, Torn and dismember'd frames are thrown on high, And then the oppressor and opprest in equal silence lie.

Come jewell'd Sultan, from thine hall of state! Exult o'er Missolonghi's fall, With flashing eye, and step elate The blood-pools count around her ruin'd wall.— Seek'st thou thus with glances vain The remnant of thy Moslem train?—