13
Lo! from the regions of the north,
The reddening storm of battle pours,
Rolls along the trembling earth,
Fastens on the Olynthian towers.
"Where rests the sword?---where sleep the brave?
Awake! Cecropia's ally save
From the fury of the blast:
Burst the storin on Plocis' walls!
Rise! or Greece for ever falls;
Up! or Freedom breathes her last!"
The jarring states, obsequious now,
View the Patriot's hand on high;
Thunder gathering on his brow,
Lightning flashing from his eye!
Borne by the tide of words along,
One mind, one voice, inspire the throng! ---
"To arms! to arms! to arms!" they cry,
"Grasp the shield, and draw the sword,
Lead us to Philippi's lord,
Let us conquer him, or die!"
Ah, eloquence! thou wast undone;
Wast from thy native country driven
When Tyranny eclipsed the sun,
And blotted out the stars of heaven!
When liberty from Greece withdrew,
And o'er the Adriatic flew
To where the Tiber pours his urn---
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock,
Sparks were kindled by the stroke---
Again thy fires began to burn!
