A deep, a broken note of woe Rose from the Archipelago. The seaman, passing Scio by, Stood out from shore: the wailful cry That reached him on the waters blue Was more than man could listen to; And when no more the death-cry came, The rising smoke, the sun-dimmed flame, The flashings of the scymitar, Told Scio’s slaughter from afar! What demon governed your debates, Ye mighty Christian potentates, That Greece, the land of light and song, Should feel the Paynim scourge so long? That Greece, for all the lore she gave, Should cry in vain, “Save, Europe, save!” How could you let the gasping child Besmear with gore the mother wild? How could ye let that wild one be The sport of wanton cruelty? Or Beauty, from Dishonour’s bed, Swell reeking piles of kindred dead, Where mingled, in the corse-fed fires, The cindered bones of sons and sires! But all is o’er--the storm hath passed, Nor oak, nor osier ’scaped the blast, Nor flow’ret of the loveliest dye-- All, all in one black ruin lie! In one short day a People fall-- Their mansions make their funeral pall-- Their winding-sheets are sheets of flame-- Their epitaphs, “Shame, Europe, shame!” Inhuman deed! Oh, murdered race! To Turk, to Holy League disgrace! Blush, Christian princes!--heartless men Who rule the councils, ne’er again Look on the Cross!--you have its ban-- You crowned it with the Alcoran! T.