tion, 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 Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war."
History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151.
MANY a vanish'd year and age, And tempest's breath, and battle's rage, Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands. The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, Have left untouch'd her hoary rock, The keystone of a land, which still, Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill, The landmark to the double tide That purpling rolls on either side, 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, 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 perish'd there be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like, through those clear skies, Than yon tower-capt Acropolis Which seems the very clouds to kiss.
On dun Cithæron'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 pitch'd, the crescent shines Along the Moslem's leaguering lines; And the dusk Spahi's bands advance Beneath each bearded pasha's glance; And far and wide as eye can reach The turban'd cohorts throng the beach; And there the Arab's camel kneels, And there his steed the Tartar wheels; The Turcoman hath left his herd,(1) 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 f
at wall the foe replies, and smoky skies,
With fires that answer fast and well The summons of the Infidel.
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, To guide the follower o'er the field, To point the tube, the lance to wield, Or whirl around the bickering blade;- Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!
From Venice-once a race of worth His gentle sires-he drew his birth; But late an exile from her shore, Against his countrymen he bore
The arms they taught to bear; and now The turban girt his shaven brow.
Through many a change had Corinth pass'd With Greece to Venice' rule at last;
And here, before her walls, with those
To Greece and Venice equal foes, He stood a foe, with all the zeal Which young and fiery converts feel, Within whose heated bosom throngs The memory of a thousand wrongs. To him had Venice ceased to be Her ancient civic boast-" the Free;" And in the palace of St. Mark Unnamed accusers in the dark Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed A charge against him uneffaced : He fled in time, and saved his life, To waste his future years in strife, That taught his land how great her loss In him who triumph'd o'er the Cross, 'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent high, And battled to avenge or die.
Coumourgi(2)-he whose closing scene Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene, When on Carlowitz' bloody plain, The last and mightiest of the slain, He sank, regretting not to die, But curst the Christian's victory- Coumourgi-can his glory cease, 1 test conqueror of Greece,
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