Which pierces the deep hills through and through

With an echo dread and new:

You might have heard it, on that day,

O'er Salamis and Megara;

(We have heard the hearers say,)

Even unto Piræus' bay.

XXV.

From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
Sabres and swords with blood were gilt ;

But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,
And all but the after carnage done.
Shriller shrieks now mingling come
From within the plunder'd dome :
Hark to the haste of flying feet,

That splash in the blood of the slippery street;
But here and there, were 'vantage ground
Against the foe may still be found,

Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,

Make a pause, and turn again

With banded backs against the wall,
Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.

There stood an old man his hairs were white,

But his veteran arm was full of might:

So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,

The dead before him, on that day,

In a semicircle lay;

Still he combated unwounded,
Though retreating, unsurrounded.
Many a scar of former fight
Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright;
But of every wound his body bore,
Each and all had been ta'en before:
Though aged, he was so iron of limb,
Few of our youth could cope with him;
And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gray.
From right to left his sabre swept :
Many an Othman mother wept
Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd
His weapon first in Moslem gore,
Ere his years could count a score.
Of all he might have been the sire
Who fell that day beneath his ire:
VOL. III.-F f

For, sonless left long years ago,
His wrath made many a childless foe;
And since the day, when in the strait (1)
His only boy had met his fate,
His parent's iron hand did doom
More than a human hecatomb.
If shades by carnage be appeased,
Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
Than his, Minotti's son, who died
Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.
Buried he lay, where thousands before

For thousands of years were inhumed on the sore;
What of them is left, to tell

Where they lie, and how they fell?

Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves :
But they live in the verse that immortally saves.

XXVI.

Hark to the Allah shout! a band

Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand:
Their leader's nervous arm is bare,

Swifter to smite, and never to spare-
Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on;
Thus in the fight is he ever known:
Others a gaudier garb may show,
To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe;
Many a hand's on a richer hilt,
But none on a steel more ruddily gilt;
Many a loftier turban may wear,

Alp is but known by the white arm bare ;
Look through the thick of the fight, 't is there!
There is not a standard on that shore
So well advanced the ranks before;
There is not a banner in Moslem war
Will lure the Delhis half so far ;
It glances like a falling star!
Where'er that mighty arm is seen,
The bravest be, or late have been;
There the craven cries for quarter
Vainly to the vengeful Tartar;
Or the hero, silent lying,

Scorns to yield a groan in dying;
Mustering his last feeble blow
'Gainst the nearest levell'd foe,

(1) In the naval battle, at the mouth of the Dardanelles between the Venetians and the Turks.

Though faint beneath the mutual wound,
Grappling on the gory ground.

XXVII.

Still the old man stood erect,
And Alp's career a moment check'd.
"Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take,
For thine own, thy daughter's sake."
"Never, renegado, never!

Though the life of thy gift would last for ever."

Francesca! Oh, my promised bride!
Must she too perish by thy pride?"
"She is safe." -"Where? where?"
From whence thy traitor soul is driven
Far from thee, and undefiled."
Grimly then Minotti smiled,
As he saw Alp staggering bow
Before his words, as with a blow.

"In heaven,

"Oh God! when died she?" "YesternightNor weep I for her spirit's flight:

None of my pure race shall be

Slaves to Mahomet and thee

Come on!".

That challenge is in vain
Alp's already with the slain!

While Minotti's words were wreaking
More revenge in bitter speaking
Than his falchion's point had found,
Had the time allow'd to wound,
From within the neighbouring porch
Of a long defended church,
Where the last and desperate few
Would the failing fight renew,

The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the ground;

Ere an eye could view the wound

That crash'd through the brain of the infide!,
Round he spun, and down he fell;
A flash like fire within his eyes
Blazed, as he bent no more to rise,
And then eternal darkness sunk
Through all the palpitating trunk ;
Nought of life left, save a quivering
Where his limbs were slightly shivering:
They turn'd him on his back; his breast
And brow were stain'd with gore ar.d dust,

And through his lips the life-blood oozed,
From its deep veins lately loosed;

But in his pulse there was no throb,
Nor on his lips one dying sob;
Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath
Heralded his way to death:
Ere his very thought could pray,
Unaneled he pass'd away,
Without a hope from mercy's aid,
To the lasta Renegade.

XXVIII.

Fearfully the yell arose

Of his followers, and his foes;
These in joy, in fury those :
Then again in conflict mixing,
Clashing swords, and spears transfixing
Interchanged the blow and thrust,
Hurling warriors in the dust.

Street by street, and foot by foot,
Still Minotti dares dispute
The latest portion of the land
Left beneath his high command ;
With him, aiding heart and hand,
The remnant of his gallant band.
Still the church is tenable,

Whence issued late the fated ball
That half avenged the city's fall,
When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:
Thither bending sternly back,
They leave before a bloody track;
And, with their faces to the foe,
Dealing wounds with every blow,
The chief, and his retreating train,
Join to those within the fane;
There they yet may breathe awhile,
Shelter'd by the massy pile.

XXIX.

Brief breathing-time! the turban'd host,
With adding ranks and raging boast,

Press onwards with such strength and heat,
Their numbers balk their own retreat;
For narrow the way that led to the spot
Where still the Christians yielded not;

And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try Through the massy column to turn and fly; They perforce must do or die.

They die; but ere their eyes could close,
Avengers o'er their bodies rose;
Fresh and furious, fast they fill

The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still;
And faint the weary Christians wax

Before the still renew'd attacks:

And now the Othmans gain the gate;
Still resists its iron weight,

And still, all deadly aim'd and hot,
From every crevice comes the shot;
From every shatter'd window pour
The volleys of the sulphurous shower:
But the portal wavering grows and weak
The iron yields, the hinges creak
It bends - it falls and all is o'er;
Lost Corinth may resist no more!

XXX.

Darkly, sternly, and all alone,
Minotti stood o'er the altar stone:
Madonna's face upon him shone,
Painted in heavenly hues above,
With eyes of light and looks of love;
And placed upon that holy shrine
To fix our thoughts on things divine,
When pictured there, we kneeling see
Her, and the boy-God on her knee,
Smiling sweetly on each prayer
To heaven, as if to waft it there,
Still she smiled; even now she smiles,
Though slaughter streams along her aisles :
Minotti lifted his aged eye,

And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
Then seized a torch which blazed thereby ;
And still he stood, while, with steel and flame,
Inward and onward the Mussulman carne.

XXXI.

The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
Contain'd the dead of ages gone;
Their names were on the graven floor,
But now illegible with gore;