The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! <br />Where burning Sappho loved and sung, <br />Where grew the arts of war and peace, <br />Where Delos rose, and Phoebus <br />sprung! <br />Eternal summer gilds them yet, <br />But all, except their sun, is set... <br /> <br />The mountains look on Marathon-- <br />And Marathon looks on the sea; <br />And musing there an hour alone, <br />I dreamed that Greece might still be free; <br />For standing on the Persians' grave, <br />I could not deem myself a slave. <br /> <br />A king sat on the rocky brow <br />Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; <br />And ships, by thousands, lay below, <br />And men in nations--all were his! <br />He counted them at break of day-- <br />And when the sun set, where were they? <br /> <br />And where are they? And where art thou? <br />My country? On thy voiceless shore <br />The heroic lay is tuneless now-- <br />The heroic bosom beats no more! <br />And must thy lyre, so long divine, <br />Degenerate into hands like mine? <br /> <br />'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, <br />Though linked among a fettered race, <br />To feel at least a patriot's shame, <br />Even as I sing, suffuse my face; <br />For what is left the poet here? <br />For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.... <br /> <br />Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! <br />Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- <br />I see their glorious black eyes shine; <br />But gazing on each glowing maid, <br />My own the burning teardrop laves, <br />To think such breasts must suckle slaves. <br /> <br />Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, <br />Where nothing, save the waves and I, <br />May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; <br />There, swanlike, let me sing and die: <br />A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-- <br />Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-isles-of-greece/
