VI.
The Persian lords before the wall were sitting all in state, They deem'd the island was at peace—they reck'd not of their fate; When on them came the fiery youth[4]—with desperate charge he came— And soon lay weltering in his gore full many a chief of fame.
VII.
The outrage rude Otanes view'd, and fury fired his breast— And to the winds the chieftain cast his monarch's high behest. He gave the word, that angry lord—"War, war unto the death!" Then many a scimitar flash'd forth impatient from its sheath.
VIII.
Through Samos wide, from side to side, the carnage is begun, And ne'er a mother there is seen, but mourns a slaughter'd son; From side to side, through Samos wide, Otanes hurls his prey, Few, few, are left in that fair isle, their monarch to obey!
IX.
The new-made monarch sits in state in his loved ancestral bow'rs, And he bids his minstrel strike the lyre, and he crowns his head with flow'rs; But still a cloud is on his brow—where is the promised smile? And yet he sits a sceptred king—in his own dear native isle.
X.
Oh! Samos dear, my native land! I tread thy courts again— But where are they, thy gallant sons? I gaze upon the slain— "A dreary kingdom mine, I ween," the mournful monarch said, "Where are my subjects good and true? I reign but o'er the dead!