SHOUT for the mighty men | |
| Who died along this shore, | |
| Who died within this mountain’s glen! | |
| For never nobler chieftain’s head | |
| Was laid on valor’s crimson bed, | 5 |
| Nor ever prouder gore | |
| Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day | |
| Upon thy strand, Thermopylæ! | |
| |
| Shout for the mighty men | |
| Who on the Persian tents, | 10 |
| Like lions from their midnight den | |
| Bounding on the slumbering deer, | |
| Rushed—a storm of sword and spear; | |
| Like the roused elements, | |
| Let loose from an immortal hand | 15 |
| To chasten or to crush a land! | |
| |
| But there are none to hear— | |
| Greece is a hopeless slave. | |
| Leonidas! no hand is near | |
| To lift thy fiery falchion now; | 20 |
| No warrior makes the warrior’s vow | |
| Upon thy sea-washed grave. | |
| The voice that should be raised by men | |
| Must now be given by wave and glen. | |
| |
| And it is given!—the surge, | 25 |
| The tree, the rock, the sand | |
| On freedom’s kneeling spirit urge, | |
| In sounds that speak but to the free, | |
| The memory of thine and thee! | |
| The vision of thy band | 30 |
| Still gleams within the glorious dell | |
| Where their gore hallowed as it fell! | |
| |
| And is thy grandeur done? | |
| Mother of men like these! | |
| Has not thy outcry gone | 35 |
| Where justice has an ear to hear?— | |
| Be holy! God shall guide thy spear, | |
| Till in thy crimsoned seas | |
| Are plunged the chain and scimitar. | |
| Greece shall be a new-born star! | 40 |
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