The dead have been awakened—shall I sleep?
The World's at war with tyrants—shall I crouch?
The harvest's ripe—and shall I pause to reap?
I slumber not; the thorn is in my Couch;
Each day a trumpet soundeth in mine ear,
Its echo in my heart——
June 19, 1823.
[First published, Letters, 1901, vi. 238.]
SONG TO THE SULIOTES.
1.
Up to battle! Sons of Suli
Up, and do your duty duly!
There the wall—and there the Moat is:
Bouwah![131] Bouwah! Suliotes!
There is booty—there is Beauty,
Up my boys and do your duty.
2.
By the sally and the rally
Which defied the arms of Ali;
By your own dear native Highlands,
By your children in the islands,
Up and charge, my Stratiotes,
Bouwah!—Bouwah!—Suliotes!
3.
As our ploughshare is the Sabre:
Here's the harvest of our labour;
For behind those battered breaches
Are our foes with all their riches:
There is Glory—there is plunder—
Then away despite of thunder!
[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]