"To place yon chief on Samos' throne, Otanes, be thy care,
But bloodless let thy victory be, his Samian people spare!"
For thus the generous chieftain said, when he made his high demand,
"I had rather still an exile roam, than waste my native land."

* * * * *

PART II.

I.

Oh, "monarchs' arms are wondrous long!"[3] their power is wondrous great,
But not to them 'tis given to stem the rushing tide of fate.
A king may man a gallant fleet, an island fair may give,
But can he blunt the sword's sharp edge, or bid the dead to live?

II.

They leave the strand, that gallant band, their ships are in the bay,
It was a glorious sight, I ween, to view that proud array;
And there, amid the Persian chiefs, himself he holds the helm,
Sits lovely Samos' future lord--he comes to claim his realm!

III.

Moeandrius saw the Persian fleet come sailing proudly down,
And his troops he knew were all too few to guard a leaguer'd town;
So he laid his crown and sceptre down, his recreant life to save--
Who thus resigns a kingdom fair deserves to be a slave.

IV.

He calls his band--he seeks the strand--they grant him passage free--
"And shall they then," his brother cried, "have a bloodless victory?
No--grant me but those spears of thine, and I soon to them shall show,
There yet are men in Samos left to face the Persian foe."

V.

The traitor heard his brother's word, and he gave the youth his way;
"An empty land, proud Syloson, shall lie beneath thy sway."
That youth has arm'd those spearmen stout--three hundred men in all--
And on the Persian chiefs they fell, before the city's wall.

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, ar