George Gordon Byron

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
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LXXII.

 Childe Harold at a little distance stood,
 And viewed, but not displeased, the revelrie,
 Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude:
 In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see
 Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee:
 And as the flames along their faces gleamed,
 Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free,
 The long wild locks that to their girdles streamed,
 While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half screamed:
 

 Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy larum afar
 Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;
 All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
 Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!
 

 Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
 To his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?
 To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,
 And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.
 

 Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive
 The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?
 Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego?
 What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?
 

 Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;
 For a time they abandon the cave and the chase:
 But those scarves of blood-red shall be redder, before
 The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.
 

 Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves,
 And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,
 Shall leave on the beach the long (...)
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