To Greece

To Greece

Hail! land of Leonidas still,

Though Moslems encircle thy shore;

And swear in their vengeance to fill

The cup of thy destiny o'er.

Yet quail not, descendants of those,

The heroes of Marathon's plain;

Better lay where your fathers repose,

Than wear the fierce Ottoman's chain.

Be firm, 'mid your troubles, ye brave,

Nor halt in your march to be free:

For spirits, who're potent to save,

Look mildly with pity on ye.

Thy land may arise to that height

She bore 'mong the nations of old; -

A Plato diffusing his light,

A Homer his treasures unfold.

And Eloquence, wake from his sleep,

With splendour unequall'd to shine;

Who'd force e'en a stoic to weep,

Or glow with a transport divine.

Soft music shall sigh through each grove,

As erst some Athenian song,

In strain so conducive to love,

When the heart is unburthen'd and young.

Then hail! to thee, land of the brave, -

Thy sons once so classic and wise;

Their memory sinks to no grave,

But the tide of Oblivion defies.

Arion

1:31, p. 124

1827.10.12