1820-30.] PEYTON SHORT SYMMES. 33 For thou, alone, hast charms that never cloy. Thy kindling smile misfortune's eye re- lumes'; And in thy roseate bowers, the spring of pleasure blooms! APPEAL FOR GREECE.* When lowly merit feels misfortune's blow, And seeks relief from penury and woe, — How bounds with rapture every generous heart, To share its treasures, and its hopes im- part, — As, rising o'er the sordid lust of gold, It shows the impress of a heavenly mould ! And, if a single sufferer thus may find Each eye o'erflowing, and each bosom kind, — How should we feel when nations rend the air With blended shouts of victory or despair ! How feel, when glorious Greece herself appears, — Sublime o'er ruins of a thousand years, — Recites the harrowing story of her woes, Since first the Turkish crescent o'er her rose, — And asks of free America the aid Which lies in every freeman's heart and blade ! Such is the land which now contends alone, In proud defiance of a tyrant's throne ; —
- Recited by the author in the Cmcinnati theater, Feb-
ruary 24tb, 1824, at a Thespian pcrformauce for the benefit of the Greeks, which resulted in a contribution of $300 to the Greek fund in New York. Beneath whose sway for centuries she bore The wrongs and sufF'rings she shall feel no more! The long dark night of stern oppression's reign At last is o'er, — and freedom smiles again ; Smiles to behold how all-defacing Time Has swept in vain o'er that delightful clime, — Nor yet subdued the spirit which, of yore Shed glory's halo round her classic shore ! What though her towers are fall'n, her arts decayed. Not time alone the mournful change hath made : — 'Twas slavery's mildew-breath, and rapine's sway, That tore her sculptured monuments away, — Till ev'n within Minerva's sacred dome. The mosque has found a desolated home ! And shall Columbia's rulers coldly stand, With listless gaze and unextended hand. Till Greece, regenerate, shall her freedom find, — Or firmer fetters tyranny rebind? Must Greece, the inspiring theme of bard and sage. The pride of every lettered clime and age, — Pressed by her impious foemen, vainly strive To keep the hallowed flame of hope alive Without one friendly arm the sword to wield. In freedom's cause, on glory's battle-field ? Forbid it, heaven ! — or be the tale unknown That 'twas not thus our sires achieved their In vain her poets sung, her heroes fought ; In vain her sages stretched the bounds of thought ; And, vainly, matchless PMdias toiled for fame, —
