bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells,--
To the tolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!

III

In the early part of the nineteenth century Fitz-Greene Halleck was
regarded as one of the greatest of American poets. He is now, however,
remembered chiefly as the author of a single poem, "Marco Bozzaris,"
published in 1827. This poem has been described, perhaps justly, as "the
best martial lyric in the English language."

It was written at a time when the people of Greece were fighting for
their independence; and it celebrates the heroism of the young Greek
patriot, Marco Bozzaris, who was killed while leading a desperate but
successful night attack upon the Turks, August 20, 1823. As here
presented, it is slightly abridged.

MARCO BOZZARIS

At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power:
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring:
Then pressed that monarch's throne--a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood
On old Plataea's day;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.

An hour passed on--the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;
He woke--to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke--to die midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and saber stroke,
And death shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:
"Strike--till the last armed foe expires;
Strike--for your altars and your fires;
Strike--for the green graves of your sires;
God--and your native land!"

They fought--like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered--but Bozza