Then, when one by one thy subjects Turn and beard thee in despair, Calling Sparta to the rescue, In thy death and spoil to share,-- When thy vines and groves lie desert, And within thy crowded wall Pest and famine slay thy chosen, Slay the foremost chief of all,-- When thy armies throng the dungeons, And thy shipwrecks heap the strand,-- When thine ancient strain of heroes Gives no more the proud command, But thy wisest heads turn faithless, And thy truest hearts grow dull, Making all thy counsel folly, All thy desperate valor null,-- When each fond and mad endeavor, Clutching at thy fallen crown, Deeper in the roaring whirlpool Of perdition sucks thee down, When at last thy foes surround thee, Dig the trench, and hem thee in,-- When the dreadful word is spoken, Which to whisper were a sin,-- When at length, in vile subjection, Unto Sparta thou shalt sue, Swearing thou wilt humbly serve her, Will she but thy life renew,-- In that hour of keenest torture, When thy star is sunk in night, Think!--but not of me, whose valor Thou so foully didst requite;-- Think not of thine outraged heroes, But of her who banished these, Think of Athens, false and fickle, Think not of Themistocles. But if e'er, in after ages, Once again thy star _should_ rise,-- If some noble son _should_ save thee, Like a god that left the skies, If thy shackles should be broken, And thou leap to new renown, Then remember me, my darling, City of the violet crown! Then shall endless shouts of triumph Sound the glories of thy name, And the songs of generations All thy matchless gifts proclaim; Then be every wrong forgotten, Then be every debt repaid, And the wreath of every hero On Athena's altar laid. FOOTNOTES: [1] The foregoing description is nearly a translation from the _Persæ_ of Æschylus. BEN JONSON.