NOTE: 
384 band edition 1822; bands editions 1839.

MAHMUD: 
Died—­as thou shouldst ore thy lips had painted
Their ruin in the hues of our success. 
A rebel’s crime, gilt with a rebel’s tongue! 
Your heart is Greek, Hassan.

HASSAN: 
It may be so:  455
A spirit not my own wrenched me within,
And I have spoken words I fear and hate;
Yet would I die for—­

MAHMUD: 
Live! oh live! outlive
Me and this sinking empire.  But the fleet—­

HASSAN: 
Alas!—­

MAHMUD: 
The fleet which, like a flock of clouds 460
Chased by the wind, flies the insurgent banner! 
Our winged castles from their merchant ships! 
Our myriads before their weak pirate bands! 
Our arms before their chains! our years of empire
Before their centuries of servile fear! 465
Death is awake!  Repulse is on the waters! 
They own no more the thunder-bearing banner
Of Mahmud; but, like hounds of a base breed,
Gorge from a stranger’s hand, and rend their master.

NOTE: 
466 Repulse is “Shelley, Errata”, edition 1822; Repulsed edition 1822.

HASSAN: 
Latmos, and Ampelos, and Phanae saw 470
The wreck—­

MAHMUD: 
The caves of the Icarian isles
Told each to the other in loud mockery,
And with the tongue as of a thousand echoes,
First of the sea-convulsing fight—­and, then,—­
Thou darest to speak—­senseless are the mountains:  475
Interpret thou their voice!

NOTE: 
472 Told Errata, Wms. transcript; Hold edition 1822.

HASSAN: 
My presence bore
A part in that day’s shame.  The Grecian fleet
Bore down at daybreak from the North, and hung
As multitudinous on the ocean line,
As cranes upon the cloudless Thracian wind. 480
Our squadron, convoying ten thousand men,
Was stretching towards Nauplia when the battle
Was kindled.—­
First through the hail of our artillery
The agile Hydriote barks with press of sail 485
Dashed:—­ship to ship, cannon to cannon, man
To man were grappled in the embrace of war,
Inextricable but by death or victory. 
The tempest of the raging fight convulsed
To its crystalline depths that stainless sea, 490
And shook Heaven’s roof of golden morning clouds,
Poised on an hundred azure mountain-isles. 
In the brief trances of the artillery
One cry from the destroyed and the destroyer
Rose, and a cloud of desolation wrapped 495
The unforeseen event, till the north wind
Sprung from the sea, lifting the heavy veil
Of battle-smoke—­then victory—­victory!