You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,—­
    Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 
  Of two such lessons, why forget
    The nobler and the manlier one? 
  You have the letters Cadmus gave,—­
  Think ye he meant them for a slave?

  Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
    We will not think of themes like these! 
  It made Anacreon’s song divine: 
    He served, but served Polycrates,—­
  A tyrant; but our masters then
  Were still, at least, our countrymen.

  The tyrant of the Chersonese
    Was freedom’s best and bravest friend;
  That tyrant was Miltiades! 
    O that the present hour would lend
  Another despot of the kind! 
  Such chains as his were sure to bind.

  Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
    On Suli’s rock and Parga’s shore
  Exists the remnant of a line
    Such as the Doric mothers bore;
  And there perhaps some seed is sown
  The Heracleidan blood might own.

  Trust not for freedom to the Franks,—­
    They have a king who buys and sells: 
  In native swords, and native ranks,
    The only hope of courage dwells;
  But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
  Would break your shield, however broad.

  Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
    Our virgins dance beneath the shade,—­
  see their glorious black eyes shine;
    But, gazing on each glowing maid,
  My own the burning tear-drop laves,
  To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

  Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep,
    Where nothing, save the waves and I,
  May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
    There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 
  A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine,—­
  Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

LORD BYRON.

* * * * *

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

  When Love with unconfined wings
    Hovers within my gates,
  And by divine Althea brings
    To whisper at my grates;
  When I lie tangled in her hair
    And fettered with her eye,
  The birds that wanton in the air
    Know no such liberty.

  When flowing cups pass swiftly round
    With no allaying Thames,
  Our careless heads with roses crowned,
    Our hearts with loyal flames;
  When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
    When healths and draughts go free,
  Fishes that tipple in the deep
    Know no such liberty.

  When, like committed linnets, I
    With shriller throat shall sing
  The mercy, sweetness, majesty
    And glories of my King;
  When I shall voice aloud, how good
    He is, how great should be,
  Enlarged winds that curl the flood
    Know no such liberty.

  Stone walls do not a prison make,
    Nor iron bars a cage;
  Minds innocent and quiet take
    That for an hermitage: 
  If I have freedom in my love,
    And in my soul am free,
  Angels alone, that soar above,
    Enjoy such liberty.