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The weight which Crime, whose wings are plumed with years,
Leaves in his flight from ravaged heart to
Over the heads of men, under which burthen They bow themselves unto the grave: fond wretch !
He leans upon his crutch, and talks of years To come, and how in hours of youth renewed He will renew lost joys, and
Victory! Victory! [The Phantom vanishes.
What sound of the importunate earth has
My mighty trance?
Weak lightning before darkness! poor faint
Of dying Islam! Voice which art the response Of hollow weakness! Do I wake and live? Were there such things, or may the unquiet
Vexed by the wise mad talk of the old
Have shaped itself these shadows of its fear?
It matters not! for nought we see or dream, Possess, or lose, or grasp at, can be worth
More than it gives or teaches. Come what
The future must become the past, and I
As they were to whom once this present hour, This gloomy crag of time to which I cling, Seemed an Elysian isle of peace and joy
Never to be attained. I must rebuke
This drunkenness of triumph ere it die,
And dying, bring despair.
Shout in the jubilee of death! The Greeks
Round which the kingly hunters of the earth
cup is foaming with a nation's blood, Famine and Thirst await! eat, drink, and die!
Victorious Wrong, with vulture scream, Salutes the risen sun, pursues the flying day! I saw her, ghastly as a tyrant's dream, Perch on the trembling pyramid of night, Beneath which earth and all her realms pavil
In visions of the dawning undelight.
Who shall impede her flight?
Victory! Victory! Russia's famished eagles Dare not to prey beneath the crescent's light. Impale the remnant of the Greeks! despoil! Violate! make their flesh cheaper than dust!
Thou voice which art
The herald of the ill in splendour hid!
Of monarchy, bear me to thine abode
When desolation flashes o'er a world des
Oh, bear me to those isles of jaggèd cloud
Which float like mountains on the earthquake, mid
The momentary oceans of the lightning,
Of those dawn-tinted deluges of fire
Before their waves expire,
When heaven and earth are light, and only
In the thunder night!
Victory! Victory! Austria, Russia, England, And that tame serpent, that poor shadow, France,
Cry peace, and that means death when monarchs speak.
Ho, there! bring torches, sharpen those red stakes,
These chains are light, fitter for slaves and poisoners
Than Greeks. Kill! plunder! burn! let none
Alas! for Liberty!
If numbers, wealth, or unfulfilling years,
Or fate, can quell the free!
Alas! for Virtue, when
Torments, or contumely, or the sneers