| |
| KNOW’ST thou, O slave-cursed land! | |
| How, when the Chian’s cup of guilt | |
| Was full to overflow, there came | |
| God’s justice in the sword of flame | |
| That, red with slaughter to its hilt, | 5 |
| Blazed in the Cappadocian victor’s hand? | |
| |
| The heavens are still and far; | |
| But, not unheard of awful Jove, | |
| The sighing of the island slave | |
| Was answered, when the Ægean wave | 10 |
| The keels of Mithridates clove, | |
| And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. | |
| |
| “Robbers of Chios! hark,” | |
| The victor cried, “to Heaven’s decree! | |
| Pluck your last cluster from the vine, | 15 |
| Drain your last cup of Chian wine; | |
| Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, | |
| In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark.” | |
| |
| Then rose the long lament | |
| From the hoar sea-god’s dusky caves; | 20 |
| The priestess rent her hair and cried, | |
| “Woe! woe! The gods are sleepless-eyed!” | |
| And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, | |
| The lords of Chios into exile went. | |
| |
| “The gods at last pay well,” | 25 |
| So Hellas sang her taunting song, | |
| “The fisher in his net is caught, | |
| The Chian hath his master bought”; | |
| And isle from isle, with laughter long, | |
| Took up and spread the mocking parable. | 30 |
| |
| Once more the slow, dumb years | |
| Bring their avenging cycle round, | |
| And, more than Hellas taught of old, | |
| Our wiser lesson shall be told, | |
| Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, | 35 |
| To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. | |
| |
