Yet, Navarin’s heroes! does Christendom breed
The base hearts that will question the fame of your deed
Are they men?—let ineffable scorn be their meed,
And oblivion shadow their graves!—
Are they women?—to Turkish serails let them speed!
And be mothers of Mussulman slaves.
Abettors of massacre! dare ye deplore
That the death-shriek is silenced on Hellas’s shore?
That the mother aghast sees her offspring no more
By the hand of Infanticide grasped?