You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, 55 Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave— Think ye he meant them for a slave? 60 XI. 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 65 Were still, at least, our countrymen. XII. The tyrant of the Cheronese Was freedom’s best and bravest friend; _That_ tyrant was Miltiades! Oh! that the present hour would lend 70 Another despot of the kind! Such chains as his were sure to bind. XIII. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! On Suli’s rock, and Parga’s shore Exists the remnant of a line 75 Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own. XIV. Trust not for freedom to the Franks— They have a king who buys and sells; 80 In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. XV. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 85 Our virgins dance beneath the shade— I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, Mine own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 90 XVI. Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine— 95 Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! * * * * * =“AS SHIPS, BECALMED AT EVE.”= As ships, becalm’d at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day Are scarce long leagues apart descried; When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, 5 And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side: E’en so—but why the tale reveal Of those, whom year by year unchanged, 10 Brief absence join’d anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged? At dead of night their sails were fill’d, And onward each rejoicing steer’d— Ah, neither blame, for neither will’d, 15 Or wist, what first with dawn appear’d! To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, Through winds and tides one compass guides To that, and your own selves, be true. 20 But O blithe breeze! and O great seas, Though ne’er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last.