The Turk was dreaming of the hour, when Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, should tremble at his power. 土耳其人正在梦乡徜徉，当希腊人的膝盖哀求地曲着，被他的势力吓得发抖。

In dreams, through camp and court he bore the trophies of a conqueror; 他在梦里穿过厌烦的营地和庭院堆满征服者的战利品；

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 在梦里，他的胜利之歌有人听见；

Then wore his monarch's signet ring: 然后戴上上面有君主封印的指环；

Then pressed that monarch's throne—a king: 按着那位君主的宝座——一位国王：

As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, as Eden's garden bird. 他的思绪纷乱，就像伊甸园里的鸟儿，快乐地抖着翅膀。

At midnight, in the forest shades, 午夜，在丛林的庇荫处，

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 博萨里斯排列他的苏里奥特乐队，

True as the steel of their tried blades, 他们经过考验的刀刃像钢一样坚硬，

Heroes in heart and hand. 英雄在心里和手上。

There had the Persian's thousands stood, 成千上万波斯人站在那里，

There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 他们的鲜血就洒在欢乐的大地上，

On old Plataea's day: 就在老普拉泰亚即位那天：

And now there breathed that haunted air, 现在，那里弥漫着不安的气息，

The sons of sires who conquered there, 曾征服那里的陛下的儿子们，

With arms to strike, and soul to dare, as quick, as far as they. 拿着武器准备战斗，誓死搏杀，他们尽快投入战斗。

An hour passed on—the Turk awoke; 一匹灰白色马儿跑过，土耳其人醒来；

That bright dream was his last: 他的美梦到头了：

He woke—to hear his sentries shriek, 他醒了——听到哨兵在喊叫，

To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek! “拿起武器！他们来了！希腊人！希腊人！”

He woke—to die mid flame and smoke, 他醒了——在火光和烟雾中死去，

And shout, and groan, and saber stroke, 喊叫，呻吟，马刀击来，

And death shots falling thick and fast as lightnings from the mountain cloud; 死亡的枪炮声此起彼伏，从高山云颠传来火光；

And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: 听到像鼓鸣一般的响声，博萨里斯鼓励他的手下：

Strike—till the last armed foe expires; “进攻——直到最后一个全副武装的敌人咽气；

Strike—for your altars and your fires; 进攻——为了你们的祭坛和你们的炮火，

Strike—for the green graves of your sires; 进攻——为了你们的陛下那绿草茸茸的墓地；

God—and your native land! 上帝——与你们的故土同在！”