Ran, and frenzied by Death’s angels, who amidst their myriads stray’d,
Brother, in bewilder’d fury, dash’d and fell on brother’s blade.
Ask the night of our achievements! It beheld us in the fight,
But the day will never credit what we did in yonder night!
Greeks by hundreds, Turks by thousands, there like scatter’d seed they lay,
On the field of Karpinissi, when the morning broke in grey.
Mark Bozzari, Mark Bozzari, and we found thee gash’d and mown;
By thy sword alone we knew thee, knew thee by thy wounds alone;
By the wounds thy hand had cloven, by the wounds that seam’d thy breast,
Lying, as thou hadst foretold us, in the Pasha’s tent at rest!
Open wide, proud Missolonghi, open wide thy portals high,
Where repose the bones of heroes, teach us cheerfully to die!
Open wide thy vaults! Within their holy bounds a couch we’d make,
Where our hero, laid with heroes, may his long last slumber take!
Rest, beside that Rock of Honour, brave Count Normann, rest thy head,
Till at the archangel’s trumpet all the graves give up their dead!
