KNOW'ST thou, O slave-cursed land! <br />How, when the Chian's cup of guilt <br />Was full to overflow, there came <br />God's justice in the sword of flame <br />That, red with slaughter to its hilt, <br />Blazed in the Cappadocian victor's hand? <br />The heavens are still and far; <br />But, not unheard of awful Jove, <br />The sighing of the island slave <br />Was answered, when the Ægean wave <br />The keels of Mithridates clove, <br />And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. <br />'Robbers of Chios! hark,' <br />The victor cried, 'to Heaven's decree! <br />Pluck your last cluster from the vine, <br />Drain your last cup of Chian wine; <br />Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, <br />In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark.' <br />Then rose the long lament <br />From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves: <br />The priestess rent her hair and cried, <br />'Woe! woe! The gods are sleepless-eyed!' <br />And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, <br />The lords of Chios into exile went. <br />'The gods at last pay well,' <br />So Hellas sang her taunting song, <br />'The fisher in his net is caught, <br />The Chian hath his master bought;' <br />And isle from isle, with laughter long, <br />Took up and sped the mocking parable. <br />Once more the slow, dumb years <br />Bring their avenging cycle round, <br />And, more than Hellas taught of old, <br />Our wiser lesson shall be told, <br />Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, <br />To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mithridates-at-chios/
