Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/659

CANTO III.] Together, bleeding, thirsty, faint, and few;

But still their weapons in their hands, and still

With something of the pride of former will,

As men not all unused to meditate,

And strive much more than wonder at their fate.

Their present lot was what they had foreseen,

And dared as what was likely to have been;

Yet still the lingering hope, which deemed their lot

Not pardoned, but unsought for or forgot,

Or trusted that, if sought, their distant caves

Might still be missed amidst the world of waves,

Had weaned their thoughts in part from what they saw

And felt, the vengeance of their country's law.

Their sea-green isle, their guilt-won Paradise,

No more could shield their Virtue or their Vice:

Their better feelings, if such were, were thrown

Back on themselves,—their sins remained alone.

Proscribed even in their second country, they

Were lost; in vain the World before them lay;

All outlets seemed secured. Their new allies

Had fought and bled in mutual sacrifice;

But what availed the club and spear, and arm

Of Hercules, against the sulphury charm,

The magic of the thunder, which destroyed

The warrior ere his strength could be employed?

Dug, like a spreading pestilence, the grave

No less of human bravery than the brave!

Their own scant numbers acted all the few

Against the many oft will dare and do;

But though the choice seems native to die free,

Even Greece can boast but one Thermopylæ,

Till now, when she has forged her broken chain

Back to a sword, and dies and lives again!