A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder
Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with
wonder

Never yet was seen such lightning
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood Star foretold

By the sainted Seer of old,
Show'ring down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.'

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!
When the soldier citizen
Swayed not o'er his fellow-men
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son —
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France de-
feated,

Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by Ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell: so perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

III.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume! Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb; Better hadst thou still been leading France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,

1 See Rev. Chap. viii. V. 7, etc., "The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood," etc. V. 8, "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea became blood," etc. V. 10, "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters."

V.

"And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter."

Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt. ["Poor dear Murat, what an end... His white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like Henry the Fourth's. He refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or body to be bandaged." - Letter to Moore, November 4, 1815.]

Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks, Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,

Shone and shivered fast around thee
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once as the Moon sways o'er the tide,

It rolled in air, the warrior's guide
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes.
There, where Death's brief pang was
quickest,

--

And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strewed beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was Murat charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth, Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;

With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

V.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion

And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die - the soul's renewed:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her, for ever bounding, spirit
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.1

[First published, Morning Chronicle,
March 15, 1816.]

Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue
Of three bright colours,' each divine,

The tricolour.

[The Siege of Corinth was written in the early spring of 1816 and was published (together with Parisina, which had been written in 1815) February 7, 1816.]

2

Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in 1810-11; and, in the course of journeying through the country from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains; or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very different: that by sea has more sameness; but the voyage, being always within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Ægina, Poros, etc., and the coast of the Continent.

["Independently of the suitableness of such an event to the power of Lord Byron's genius, the Fall of Corinth afforded local attractions, by the intimate knowledge which the poet had of the place and surrounding objects. . . . Thus furnished with that topographical information which could not be well obtained from books and maps, he was admirably qualified to depict the various operations and progress of the siege

Memoir of the Life and Writings of the Right Honourable Lord Byron, London, 1822, p. 222.]

hold out such a place against so mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley: but while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Signior or Antonio Bembo, Proveditor Extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." - A Compleat History of the Turks [London, 1719], iii. 151.

Toil and travel, but no sorrow.
We were of all tongues and creeds;
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church, 20
And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
Yet through the wide world might ye
search,

Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.

But some are dead, and some are gone,
And some are scattered and alone,
And some are rebels on the hills 1
That look along Epirus' valleys,
Where Freedom still at moments
rallies,

And pays in blood Oppression's ills;
And some are in a far countree,
And some all restlessly at home;

30

But never more, oh! never, we
Shall meet to revel and to roam.
But those hardy days flew cheerily!
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the
main,

And bear my spirit back again
Over the earth, and through the air,
A wild bird and a wanderer.

'Tis this that ever wakes my strain, 40
And oft, too oft, implores again
The few who may endure my lay,
To follow me so far away.

Stranger, wilt thou follow now,
And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's
brow?

60

As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled,1
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
Arise from out the Earth which drank
The stream of Slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine Ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below:
Or could the bones of all the slain,
Who perished there, be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like, through those clear
skies,

Than yon tower-capped Acropolis,
Which seems the very clouds to kiss. 70

II.

On dun Citharon's ridge appears
The gleam of twice ten thousand spears;
And downward to the Isthmian plain,
From shore to shore of either main,
The tent is pitched, the Crescent
shines

Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;
And the dusk Spahi's bands advance
Beneath each bearded Pacha's glance;
And far and wide as eye can reach
The turbaned cohorts throng the
beach;
80

And there the Arab's camel kneels,
And there his steed the Tartar wheels;
The Turcoman hath left his herd,3
The sabre round his loins to gird;
And there the volleying thunders
pour,

Till waves grow smoother to the roar.
The trench is dug, the cannon's breath
Wings the far hissing globe of death;
Fast whirl the fragments, from the
wall,

Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;

And from that wall the foe replies,
O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,
With fires that answer fast and well
The summons of the Infidel.

90

[Timoleon, who had saved the life of his brother Timophanes in battle, afterwards put him to death for aiming at the supreme power in Corinth.]

[Turkish holders of military fiefs.]

The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patriarchal: they dwell in tents.

III.

100

But near and nearest to the wall
Of those who wish and work its fall,
With deeper skill in War's black art,
Than Othman's sons, and high of heart
As any Chief that ever stood
Triumphant in the fields of blood;
From post to post, and deed to deed,
Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
And make the foremost Moslem quail;
Or where the battery, guarded well,
Remains as yet impregnable,
Alighting cheerly to inspire
The soldier slackening in his fire;
The first and freshest of the host
Which Stamboul's Sultan there can
boast,