IX.

In vain—­in vain:  strike other chords;
  Fill high the cup with Samian wine! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
  And shed the blood of Scio’s vine! 
Hark! rising to the ignoble call—­
How answers each bold Bacchanal!

X.

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
  Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 
Of two such lessons, why forget
  The nobler and the manlier one? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave—­
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

XI.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
  We will not think of themes like these! 
It made Anacreon’s song divine: 
  He served—­but served Polycrates—­
A Tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.

XII.

The Tyrant of the Chersonese
  Was Freedom’s best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades! 
  Oh! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind.

XIII.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
  On Suli’s rock, and Parga’s shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
  Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.

XIV.

Trust not for freedom to the Franks—­
  They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,
  The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.

XV.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
  Our virgins dance beneath the shade—­
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
  But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

XVI.

Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep,
  Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
  There, swan-like, let me sing and die: 
A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine—­
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

Coleridge’s Text.

* * * * *

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

20. Hohenlinden.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th’ untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.