File:The International library of famous literature, selections from the world's great writers, ancient, mediaeval, and modern with biographical and explanatory notes and critical essays by many eminent (14781372731).jpg

Identifier: internationallib17garn (find matches)
Title: The International library of famous literature, selections from the world's great writers, ancient, mediaeval, and modern with biographical and explanatory notes and critical essays by many eminent writers
Year: 1900 (1900s)
Authors: Garnett, Richard, 1835-1906 Vallée, Léon, 1850-1919 Brandl, Alois, 1855-1940 Mitchell, Donald Grant, 1822-1908
Subjects: Literature
Publisher: London : The Standard
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein.His few surviving comrades sawHis smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won;Then saw in death his eyelids closeCalmly, as to a nights repose. Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber. Death! Come to the mothers, when she feelsFor the first time her firstborns breath; Come when the blessed sealsThat close the pestilence are broke,And crowded cities wail its stroke;Come in consumptions ghastly form.The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song, and dance, and wine;And thou art terrible — the tear.The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his swordHas won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophets word; And in its hollow tones are heardThe thanks of millions yet to be. Come when his task of fame is wrought — Come with her laurel leaf, blood-bought —
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MARCO BOZZARIS MARCO BOZZARIS. 7943 Come in her crowning hour—and thenThy sunken eyes unearthly lightTo him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prisoned men:Thy grasp is welcome as the handOf brother in a foreign land;Thy summons welcome as the cryThat told the Indian isles were nigh, To the world-seeking Genoese,When the land wind, from woods of palm,And orange groves, and fields of balm, Blew oer the Haytian seas. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glorys time.Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime.She wore no funeral weeds for thee. Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plumeLike torn branch from deaths leafless treeIn sorrows pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb:But she remembers thee as oneLong loved and for a season gone;For thee her poets lyre is wreathed.Her marble wrought, her music breathed;For thee she rings the birthday bells;Of thee her babes first lisping tells;For thine her evening prayer is saidAt

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