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Title: The Grave Of Demos
Author: George Borrow [
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From the Modern Greek.
Thus old Demos spoke, as sinking sought the sun the western wave:
Now, my brave lads, fetch us water, after supping let us lave;
O Lamprakes, O my nephew, down beside thy uncle sit--
When I'm gone, wear thou my trappings, and be captain, as is fit;
And do ye, my merry fellows, now my vacant sabre take,
And therewith green branches cutting, straight for me a pallet make;
Some one for the holy father, that I may confess me, run,
And that I to him may whisper all the crimes, in life I've done;
I've full thirty years as warrior, twenty five as robber pass'd;
Now I feel my end approaching, and I fain would breathe my last;
Me a tomb that's broad and lofty, O forget not to prepare,
For erect I'll stand within it, as in war, and weapons bear:
On the right side leave an opening, that the merry larks in spring,
Of its coming, welcome coming, may to me the tiding bring,
And for me in May's sweet season nightingales may sweetly sing.
[The end]
George Borrow's poem: Grave Of Demos
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