Monday, June 22, 2009

Lord Byron and Greece.

Cultural treasures stolen from Greece by the British colonialism must be returned to their place of origin. The Caribbean and Latin American victims of the looting of national treasures by colonialism should be in solidarity with the Greek government and its minister of culture because cultures are well integrated into the Greek world in our current area of identities and nationalities. Moral, political, legal and infrastructural support, today, the cultural identity of Greece for which he gave his life internationalist English poet Lord Byron.Gualterio Nunez Estrada, Sarasota, Florida 34233.
Πολιτιστικούς θησαυρούς κλαπεί από την Ελλάδα από τη βρετανική αποικιοκρατία πρέπει να επιστρέψουν στον τόπο καταγωγής τους. Της Καραϊβικής και της Λατινικής Αμερικής θύματα της λεηλασίας των εθνικών θησαυρών από την αποικιοκρατία θα πρέπει να είναι αλληλέγγυα με την ελληνική κυβέρνηση και τον Υπουργό Πολιτισμού, διότι πολιτισμών είναι ενσωματωμένοι στην ελληνική κόσμο μας στο σημερινό χώρο των ταυτοτήτων και εθνικοτήτων. Ηθικά, πολιτικά, νομικά και στήριξη των υποδομών, σήμερα, την πολιτισμική ταυτότητα της Ελλάδας, για τα οποία έδωσε τη ζωή του ποιητή Λόρδου διεθνιστής Αγγλικά Byron.Gualterio Νουνιέζ Estrada, Sarasota, Florida 34233.

Kültür hazineleri Yunanistan'dan İngiliz sömürgeciliğin tarafından çalınan orijinal yere iade edilmelidir. Çünkü kültür de Yunan dünyasına kimlikler ve milliyetten mevcut alanda entegre edilen Karayipler ve ulusal hazineleri ve yağma ve Latin Amerika kurbanlar sömürgecilik ile dayanışma içinde Yunan hükümeti ve kültür bakanı ile birlikte olmalıdır. Ahlaki, siyasi, hukuki ve altyapı desteği, bugün Yunanistan kültürel kimlik olarak kendi yaşam enternasyonalist İngilizce şair Lord Byron.Gualterio Nunez Estrada, Sarasota, Florida 34233 verdi.
Modern Greece(song of the greek poet in "don juan")
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
-Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' "Islands of the Best.
"The mountains look on Marathon-
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream'd that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below
,And men in nations; - all were his!
He counted them at break of day -
And when the sun set where were they?
And where are they? and where are thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now -
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?'
Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,
To feel at least a petriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear.
Must w e but weep o'er days more blest?
Must w e but blush? - Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no; - the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise, - we come, we come!
"'Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain - in vain; strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call -
How answers each bold Bacchanal!
Yor have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave -
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served - but served Polycrates -
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
T h a t tyrant was Miltiades!
Oh! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks -
They have a king who buys and sells:
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade -
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine -
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
George Gordon Lord Byron . 1788-1824

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