Was 't for Persia in the council With your false allies I toiled, Bade the Spartan, "Strike, but hear me," Ere my country should be spoiled? Or that all that night their galleys In the narrow strait I kept? For we felt the Persian closing, And no son of Athens slept. But when broke the golden dawning O'er Pentelicus afar, Rose the glad Hellenic pæan, Bursting with the morning star. For we saw the Persian squadrons Ship on ship in thousands pour, And we knew the pass was narrow 'Twixt the island and the shore. Calmly, as no foe were near us, All our morning tasks we wrought, Lying there in silent order, As though fight we never fought. But we grasped our oars all eager Till the tough pine burned each hand, Watching till the steersman's signal For the onset gave command. Then we smote the sea together, And our galleys onward flew, While from all the Hellenic navy, As we dashed along the blue, Pealed one loud, triumphant war-cry,-- "Now, ye sons of Hellas, come, Conquer freedom for your country, Freedom each one for his home, Freedom for your wives and children, For the altars where ye bow, For your fathers' honored ashes, For them all ye 're fighting now!"[1] On the mountain height the tyrant Bade them set his golden throne, And in pitch of pride surveyed them,-- All the fleet he called his own,-- Heard the war-cry far resounding, Heard the oars' responsive dash, And the shock of squadrons smiting Beak to beak with sudden clash,-- Saw them locked in wild confusion, Prow on prow and keel on keel,-- Heard the thundering crash of timbers, And the ring of clanging steel,-- Saw his ponderous ships entangled In the close and narrow strait, And our light-winged galleys darting Boldly in the jaws of fate,-- Saw the mad disorder seize them, As we grappled fast each prow, Leaped like tigers on the bulwarks, Hurled them to the depths below,-- Saw his bravest on the island Slaughtered down in deadly fight, Whom he fondly placed to crush us, If perchance we turned to flight,-- Saw one last despairing struggle,-- Then the shout that all was lost, And his matchless navy turning, Fleeing from the hated coast,-- Saw them stranded on the island, Rent and shattered on the main,-- Heard the shrieks of myriads wounded, Saw the heaps of thousands slain, While the sea was red with carnage, And the air with shouts was wild, "Woe to Persia's slaves and tyrant! Hail to Athens, ocean's child!" No, ye have not all forgotten, All your hearts have not grown cold, When of Athens' countless triumphs, This, the noblest tale, is told.