158
BYRON.
Treading in mockery o’er the immortal dead;
And conscious Nature there, as if to screen
The nakedness of Ruin, had outspread
Her gayest flowers to deck her saddest scene,
And hung, o’er mouldering walls, her tapestry of green.
And conscious Nature there, as if to screen
The nakedness of Ruin, had outspread
Her gayest flowers to deck her saddest scene,
And hung, o’er mouldering walls, her tapestry of green.
And many a Grecian slave to Turkish foe
In hopeless bondage bowed the unwilling knee,
And, all too weak to strike the avenging blow,
To rend the galling chains of slavery,
And write their names once more among the free,
But humbled in despair, unmoved behold
Their shrine defaced, their altars borne away,
By every plunderer, even the hallowed mould
Of Marathon itself, exchanged for foreign gold.
In hopeless bondage bowed the unwilling knee,
And, all too weak to strike the avenging blow,
To rend the galling chains of slavery,
And write their names once more among the free,
But humbled in despair, unmoved behold
Their shrine defaced, their altars borne away,
By every plunderer, even the hallowed mould
Of Marathon itself, exchanged for foreign gold.
And as he mused upon her buried worth,
’Mid her fallen columns and her ruined fanes,—
That none were there to lead her children forth;
To strike with them, and burst their servile chains,
And with their blood to wash away the stains
That their great name on Freedom’s record dyed,—
He touched his harp, and the enchanting strains,
The world was hushed to hear—and then aside
Bade Poesy retire, and made sad Greece his bride.
’Mid her fallen columns and her ruined fanes,—
That none were there to lead her children forth;
To strike with them, and burst their servile chains,
And with their blood to wash away the stains
That their great name on Freedom’s record dyed,—
He touched his harp, and the enchanting strains,
The world was hushed to hear—and then aside
Bade Poesy retire, and made sad Greece his bride.
