Greek Song

Greek Song

Mount, soldier, mount, the gallant steed, --

    Seek, seek, the ranks of war:

'Tis better there in death to bleed,

    Than drag a tyrant's ear.

Strike! strike! nor think the blow unseen
That frees the limbs where chains have been.

Oh no! each dying shout that peals

    From continent or isle,

Each smoke that curling slow, reveals

    A city's funeral pile, -

Are heard and seen among the free,
Whose hearts are struggling, Greece, with thee.

On, on, for Karaiskaki's hand!

    Look where the crescents wave;

They glance above a ruined land,

    Like death-lights o'er a grave:

One prayer, one thought, of Marathon,
And they are quenched, - on, soldier, on!

But yet, if not the glorious past,

    Nor hopes of future fame,

Nor chains of steel around thee cast,

Urge thee to war with shame; -

Thinking that beyond the parting sea
The prayers of beauty rise for thee.

Nay, cast not on thy infant child,

    That look of fond regret -

Mind not that shriek of sorrow wild -

    Thy wife shall clasp thee yet -

God, and the fair across the wave
Watch o'er the children of the brave.

Then, soldier, mount the gallant steed, -

    Seek, seek, the ranks of war;

'Tis better there in death to bleed,

    Than drag a tyrant's car;

One clasp - one kiss - then soldier, on -
And win another Marathon.

Simonides

1: 26, p. 104

1827.09.07