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καλός αστήρ, δς κατ' ατέρμον αυγών ποντίας λεύσσει πλακός· άλλα πουλί καλλίον φέγγος το νεανικών ασ

τράπτον απ' όσσων.

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In vain-in vain : strike other chords ;

Fill high the cup with Samian wine!

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's vine :

Hark! rising to the ignoble call

How answers each bold bacchanal !

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 gaveThink 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.

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The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades !

Oh! 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.

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