Greek Song
Dublin Core
Title
Description
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 unseenThat frees the limbs where chains have been.
Oh no! each dying shout that peals
From continent or isle,
Each smoke that curling slow, revealsA 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 seaThe 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 waveWatch 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.
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