Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 13 1825/The Suliote Mother
The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 13, Page 293
THE SULIOTE MOTHER.
Various writers on Modern Greece have related the fate of those Suliote women, who threw themselves, with their infants, from the precipices of their mountainous territory, on the conquest and approach of Ali Pacha. One of those narrators adds, that a wild song was chanted by the mothers, before committing the act of desperation.
She stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the dark blue sky,
A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.
"Dost thou see them, boy?—through the dusky pines,
Dost thou see where the foeman's armour shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe! that I cradled on my breast!
Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy?
—That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!"
For in the rocky strait beneath
Lay Suliote sire and son;
They had heap'd high the piles of death,
Before the pass was won.
"They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come!
Woe for the mountain-hearth and home!
There, where the hunter laid by his spear,
There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear,
There, where I sang thee, fair babe! to sleep,
Nought but the blood-stain our trace shall keep!"
And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
And now the cymbal's clang,
Till ev'n the upper air was stirr'd,
As cliffs and hollows rang.
"Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild?
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire,
As if at a glimpse of thine armed sire?
—Still!—be thou still!—there are brave men low—
Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!"
But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swell'd the horn,
And farther yet the tambour's peal
Through the dark pass was borne.
"Hear'st thou the sounds of their savage mirth?
—Boy, thou wert free when I gave thee birth!
Free, and how cherish'd! my warrior's son!
He, too, hath bless'd thee, as I have done.
Ay, and unchain'd must his loved ones be,—
—Freedom, young Suliote, for me and thee!"
And from the arrowy peak she sprung,
And fast the fair child bore;
A veil upon the wind was flung,
A cry—and all was o'er!