Themistocles
Its sleepy coils at length unroll
Anhungered, and devour you whole.
Anhungered, and devour you whole.
Yet still within my restless blood
The living blood of Marathon—
Of Salamis yet stirs—ah! good
It were to see the past undone
That freely I might strike—there lies
Such pain on me—hate's flames arise
To burn the sorrow from my eyes.
The living blood of Marathon—
Of Salamis yet stirs—ah! good
It were to see the past undone
That freely I might strike—there lies
Such pain on me—hate's flames arise
To burn the sorrow from my eyes.
My flickering life unfed with hate
Would surely perish—I must live—
Nor shall in any wise abate
My spirit. Shall not the gods give
In guerdon sight of Athens yet?
Till my feet on her stones are set
I dare not waver or forget.
Would surely perish—I must live—
Nor shall in any wise abate
My spirit. Shall not the gods give
In guerdon sight of Athens yet?
Till my feet on her stones are set
I dare not waver or forget.
105
