Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home, or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopylæ? These waters blue that round you lave, O servile offspring of the free-- Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendor to disgrace: Enough--no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell; Yes! self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot sway. THE HELLESPONT AND TROY From 'The Bride of Abydos' The winds are high on Helle's wave; As on that night of stormy water, When Love, who sent, forgot to save The young, the beautiful, the brave, The lonely hope of Sestos's daughter. Oh! when alone along the sky Her turret torch was blazing high, Though rising gale, and breaking foam, And shrieking sea-birds, warned him home; And clouds aloft and tides below, With signs and sounds, forbade to go: He could not see, he would not hear, Or sound or sign foreboding fear; His eye but saw the light of love, The only star it hailed above; His ear but rang with Hero's song, "Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"-- That tale is old, but love anew May nerve young hearts to prove as true. The winds are high, and Helle's tide Rolls darkly heaving to the main; And Night's descending shadows hide That field with blood bedewed in vain, The desert of old Priam's pride, The tombs, sole relics of his reign, All--save immortal dreams that could beguile The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!