a,
attained great fame by the heroic resistance of their garrisons against
the forces of Kioutachi and Imbrahim, Pashas in the War of Liberation.
The town itself is a shrine of patriotism for modern Greeks. For from
1822 to 1826, with its humble walls hardly stronger than fences, it
sustained the attacks of very superior forces, and its ground was
hallowed by the blood of many national heroes. Just outside its walls
lies the "Heroes' Garden" or "Herooen," where under the shadows of
eucalyptus and cypress trees, Marcos Bozzaris, Mavromichalis, the
philhellene General Coreman, and Lord Byron's heart are buried. It was
during the second siege that Byron died here in the midst of his noble
efforts for the freedom of Greece. The fall of the city brought about by
famine is the most glorious defeat in the history of the Greek
Revolution. The garrison of three thousand soldiers with six thousand
unarmed persons including women and children, unwilling to surrender,
attempted to break through the Turkish lines. But only one-sixth managed
to escape. The rest were driven back and mercilessly cut down by their
pursuers. Many took refuge in the powder magazines of the city and
waited until the Turks drew up in great numbers; then they set fire to
the powder and blew up friends and foes alike. The second sonnet of
Palamas' "Fatherlands" is devoted to this lagoon city:

Upon the lake, the island-studded, where
The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs
The seashore strewn with seaweed far away,
The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan.

'Tis there the northwind battles mightily
Upon the southwind; and the high tide on
The low; and far into the main's abyss
The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking.

There stands Varassova, the triple-headed;
And from her heights, a lady from her tower,
The moon bends o'er the waters lying still.

But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's,
Not even there I knew; but only sorrow
And, what is now a fire--the spirit's spark.

Here then, "the spirit's spark" was first kindled, and here, in the city
of his ancestors, the poet was born. The swampy meadows overgrown with
rushes and surrounded with violet mountains, the city with its narrow
crooked streets and low-roofed houses, the lagoon with its still shallow
waters and modest islets, the life of townsmen and peasants with their
humbles occupations, passions, and legends, a