Ye sons of Greece! by true descent ally’d

To Athens’ glory, and to Sparta’s pride;

Heirs to the spark that set the world ablaze

With new-born Freedom’s first awak’ning rays;

Children of Hellas, from whose deathless heart

Sprang all we have of wisdom and of art:

Can ye, unblushing, bear upon your throne

A slave of gods and cultures not your own?

Heav’ns! would Pelides, foremost in the fray,

Bow thus to Thor’s and Woden’s frost-mad sway?

Would Agamemnon drop his glist’ning shield,

And passive to barbarian Wilhelm yield?

Shame on thee, Constantinos! Reign no more,

Thou second Hippias of the Attic shore!

Rise from your tombs, ye Marthonian slain!

Ye shades of Salamis, adorn the main!

Appear, ye martyrs of th’ embattled free,

Whose sacred mem’ry guards Thermopylae!

With ancient valour teach your native Greece

To scorn the Goth, and spurn a coward’s peace!

As once your hands, invincible and just,

Smote tyrant Xerxes prostrate in the dust;

Disarm’d th’ oppressor, and preserv’d the brave;

Snatch’d infant Europe from a Persian grave;

So may ye now against the despot stand,

And stir the sleeping glories of your land!

Need any tongue before your ears rehearse

The monstrous menace of the Vandal curse?

Need bard or prophet sound the mourning lyre,

Or Delphic riddles rouse your smould’ring fire?

Behold the Teuton, threat’ning in his guilt

The laws and arts your matchless Athens built;

Your laws and arts, by Roman prowess spread

Thro’ grateful Europe, and to Britain led;

By British pow’r sent o’er the ocean crest

Where young Columbia rules th’ expansive West;

Gaze on the Hun, his bestial cohorts hurl’d

Against the freedom of a Grecian world!

See great Italia soar again to fame,

Till monarchs shudder at the Roman name;

See fiery Gaul achieve a nobler height,

And shew the neighb’ring nations how to fight;

And proud o’er all the rest, with ties renew’d,

See brother Saxons cow th’ invading brood!

All these behold—these scions of your mind—

Shall Hellas, source of all, remain behind?

Say not, ye Greeks, that those bold men are gone

Who yesteryear your conqu’ring hosts led on;

Say not your plains of heroes are bereft,

Nor cry that Clisthenes no heir hath left;

False is the tongue that such a slander gives

To Grecian soil, while VENIZELOS lives!

With such a chieftain could your country know

The fame and liberty of long ago;

Once more would tyrants meet their well-earn’d fate,

And Grecian freedom bless the Grecian state:

A Cretan Pericles the helm would hold,

That Greece might sail to glory as of old!

Cloud-crown’d Olympus! may thy godlike train

Rule as of yore, and haunt the groves again;

May Zeus with thunders scourge the martial scene

Where Woden tramples o’er th’ unhappy green;

May arm’d Athena with her aegis soar

Above the phalanx of encroaching Thor,

While gruff Poseidon’s trident, pois’d with care,

Smites the dread serpent in its ocean lair!

Gods! Heroes! Men of Greece! at last come forth

Against the crawling Hydra of the North:

Achaia’s pow’r eternally endures—

The past, the blood, the leader, all are yours!