Song Of The Greek Amazon.

I buckle to my slender side
The pistol and the scimitar,
And in my maiden flower and pride
Am come to share the tasks of war.
And yonder stands my fiery steed,
That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,
I took him from the routed foe.

My mirror is the mountain spring,
At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard from wind and sun
This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled?
It was for one, oh, only one,
I kept its bloom, and he is dead.

But they who slew him, unaware
Of coward murderers lurking nigh,
And left him to the fowls of air,
Are yet alive, and they must die.
They slew him, and my virgin years
Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And many an Othman dame, in tears,
Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.

I touched the lute in better days,
I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays
Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
As the fierce shout of victory.

William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. He is notably recognized for his poems such as "Thanatopsis" and "To a Waterfowl," which reflect nature and human mortality. Bryant was a leading figure in American literature and played a significant role in bringing European Romanticism to American literature. During his lifetime, he was also known for his political and social influence.

William Cullen Bryant

A Scene On The Banks Of The Hudson.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

The Strange Lady.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

No Man Knoweth His Sepulchre.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

The Living Lost.

William Cullen Bryant, Simple Poetry

English

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'Tis a song of love and valour, in the noble Spanish tongue,
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To Italy.

    My country, I the walls, the arches see,
    The columns, statues, and the towers
    Deserted, of our ancestors;
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    Our sires of old.
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The Greek Boy.

Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,
Glorious in mien and mind;
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Yet fresh the myrtles there, the springs
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There nature moulds as nobly now,
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Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hellas' skies:
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Her sunshine lit thine eyes;
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Greek Air

        List! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings,
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Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving,
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The Hunter's Serenade.

Thy bower is finished, fairest!
Fit bower for hunter's bride,
Where old woods overshadow
The green savanna's side.
I've wandered long, and wandered far,
And never have I met,
In all this lovely western land,
A spot so lovely yet.
But I shall think it fairer,
When thou art come to bless,
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Its silent loveliness.

For thee the wild grape glistens,
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The slim papaya ripens
Its yellow fruit for thee.
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The Greek Partisan.

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Where those stern men are meeting.

They go to the slaughter,
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