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Where men may read their destinies !
What! still unmoved, thou Sleeper! still
Thy forehead set-
Thy proud lip curb'd-
Awake thee, Byron! Thou art call'd,
The thraldom of the nations-wake!
The heathen are upon thee! Lo, they come
Silent as death,
Like them of old, that crept
On the shorn Samson, while he slept,
In their barbarian power afraid
Of one-a woman had betray'd!
Or, like the pirate-band that stole
An armed multitude, to take
Awake, anointed one, awake!
Is full of lamentation-all the air
With sweet, remote,
Low sounds, afloat
And solemn trumpeting and prayer.
The waters of the mountain lake
Tremble and shake
And change their hue
As if they felt a spirit go
O'er their transparent solitude:
The great hills darken-all the valleys quake With one continual throe,
green earth is wet
With a fragrant sweat,
Like the fine small dew,
That filters through
Rich moss, by the foot subdued;
Their blossoms throw
On the motionless air,
Like a shower of snow,
Trembling as if they felt the tread
And see! another band appear,
Three hundred Spartan shadows they,
A lustre on the troubled air:
The marble Sleeper, where he lies
Behold them slowly trace,
With sorrow in each noble face,
Thou sleeping warrior-Bard! O break
The Spartans are about thee-
They claim thee for the last
To whom the battle and the chase,
The thunder and the fight,
Awake! and fall
Like the bright thunder on their foes!
On with thy helmet! set thy foot
Strike down the infidel, and put
Thy mailed hand upon thy slumbering heart,
And sounding to the mountain air,
Go up, thou Sleeper! go with loosen'd hair;
up into the cloud, and then forbear
To join the awful interlude,
The wild and solemn harmony
Of that afflicted solitude,
Bard of the Ocean, if thou canst, in one eternal prayer!
Still changing not,
Or noise of coming strife,
Or thunder near thee roll'd:
The nations that have known thee long
Where thou art lying;
The Spartan wise-the Spartan strong,
By some great multitude-
Immoveable as if thy blood were turn'd to stone!
Man of the solid brow;
To alter not,
Nor change, nor stir thyself, nor wake,
The cold extinguished ground,
Up from thy charmed slumber! break
Ye of the snowy brow,
The beautiful and tender!
Ye shadows of his child and wife,
Now heaven be thanked! he lies
Children of Greece, rejoice!
No change nor trouble shall come again To the island-bard of the deep blue main; Nor blight nor blast
The brightness of his name;
All ye that have loved the man, rejoice,
He cannot, now,
And you, ye men of Greece,
That will burn eternally
And sound that will never cease!
For his beautiful eyes,
Under Grecian skies,
Were shut by the hands of Grecian men And the voice of his heart
Will never depart
Away from the land of the brave again: