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Poem by William Cullen Bryant


The Massacre at Scio


Weep not for Scio's children slain;
    Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed,
Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain
    For vengeance on the murderer's head.

Though high the warm red torrent ran
    Between the flames that lit the sky,
Yet, for each drop, an armed man
    Shall rise, to free the land, or die.

And for each corpse, that in the sea
    Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,
A hundred of the foe shall be
    A banquet for the mountain birds.

Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain
    To keep that day, along her shore,
Till the last link of slavery's chain
    Is shivered, to be worn no more.



William Cullen Bryant


William Cullen Bryant's other poems:
  1. An Indian Story
  2. Hymn of the City
  3. The Living Lost
  4. The Death of Lincoln
  5. To a Cloud


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