THE MASSACRE AT SCIO

Weep not for Scio’s children slain;

Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed,

Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain

For vengeance on the murderer’s head.

Though high the warm red torrent ran

Between the flames that lit the sky,

Yet, for each drop, an armed man

Shall rise, to free the land, or die.

And for each corpse, that in the sea

Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,

A hundred of the foe shall be

A banquet for the mountain-birds.

Stern rites and sad shall Greece ordain

To keep that day along her shore,

Till the last link of slavery’s chain

Is shattered, to be worn no more.