I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bough,
The sword that laid Hipparchus low,
When at Athena's adverse fane
He knelt, and never rose again.
While Freedom's name is understood,
You shall delight the wise and good;
You dared to set your country free,
And gave her laws equality.—Bland.
The same.
In myrtle my sword will I wreathe,
Like our patriots the noble and brave,
Who devoted the tyrant to death,
And to Athens equality gave.
Loved Harmodius, thou never shalt die!
The poets exultingly tell
That thine is the fulness of joy
Where Achilles and Diomed dwell.
In myrtle my sword will I wreathe,
Like our patriots the noble and brave,
Who devoted Hipparchus to death,
And buried his pride in the grave.
At the altar the tyrant they seized,
While Athena he vainly implored.
And the Goddess of Wisdom was pleased
With the victim of Liberty's sword.
May your bliss be immortal on high.
Among men as your glory shall be!
Ye doom'd the usurper to die,
And bade our dear country be free.—D.
The same.
In myrtles veil'd will I the falchion wear;
For thus the patriot sword
Harmodius and Aristogeiton bare,
When they the tyrant's bosom gored;
And bade the men of Athens be
Regenerate in equality.
