IPSARA.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume IV, Issue 188, 3 November 1876, Page 6

IPSARA.

(Free Translation from BCratiger's French.) There is no God but God ! All praise to the Prophet, All praise to the Prophet, the triumph is ours ! Our standards unfurled o'er these shores be uplifted : Their defenders lie slain midst the wreck of their tow'rs. The triumph is ours. With the sabre of slaughter Right fiercely we'll quell the revolt of the Cross. We'll sweep from earth's surface a race e'er unconquered. The kings of the Christians avenge not its loss. What ! Hast thou not, Chios, one child c'en delivered, That here had recounted thy story of woe ? Then, trembling, Ipsara had crouched 'neath her masters, Ere flooded with gore she'd, like thee, been laid low. When the corpses, thick piled in thine isle of rebellion, Thro' the camp of our soldiers breathed plague's dreaded breath, Thy dying ones murmured, "In this be our help found The kings they call Christian avenge not our death." But of Chios the orgies shall here be repeated. Ipsara succumbs j see her hope at our feet, When Christendom sends to Stamboul salutation, Its envoys our crowded seraglios shall greet. Then pillage, and glut all your passions unbridled : The victims of outrage are giv'n to your will. From the stains we inflict in their blood will we cleanse them. The kings of the Christians avenge them not still. In the depths of her heart enslaved Europe had uttered, Let a people appear that no fetters restrain." "Peace," suddenly cried, in a voice hoarse with anger, Her chiefs that by heaven have giv'n in disdain. A dangerous leader was seen in Lord Byron. He died, and their smiles did their pleasure bespeak. Advance then, and foul we the Christ's very temple. No revenge in His cause will the Christian kings wreak. lo the rage that inspires us no obstacle's offered. Ipsara's cast down : Heav'n hath whelmed her in night, On her ruins the victor, from bloodshed reposing, O'er blood still to shed doth in dreaming delight, Come the day when Stamboul shall, half mad with rejoicing, See the last of the Greeks from our masts hang on high. In_ the tomb that long held her be Greece re-imprison'd While the kings of the Christians unheeding pass by.