Seraphim/The Grecian's Song

THE GRECIAN'S SONG

Ah! say not ye rulers, ye tyrants of Greece,
⁠Ah! say not that freedom defend our green shore,
O tell not our sons that fair plenty was smiling,
⁠Ah! freedom and plenty, alas! are no more.
We ask not for mercy from tyrants so cruel,
⁠Our rights we demand, and our rights we shall have:
We still shall inherit the blood of our fathers,
⁠Who fell at famed Marathon,--the country to save.
O hush'd be the trumpet that wakes the war-lion,
⁠Fair Peace we adore thee with olive so green,
But say, shall brave millions ay bow to oppression,
⁠And weep out existence in sorrow and pain.

No--mark the brave sons of the land of Columbia,
⁠Their broad spreading eagle fair freedom unfolds.
Their rich glowing vallies are sounding with gladness;
⁠And each tolling peasant sweet plenty beholds.
O come, ye Spartans! tho' dreary the prospect,
⁠Come, for our children demand no delay;
Arouse! or our country will fall into ruins,
⁠And grim-eyed oppression will hail the dark day.
Then rally, ye Grecians--thy chiefs, O famed Luctra!
⁠Still gaze on our sons, though enwrapt with a chain;
Arouse! from thy fetters, fair land of the sages,
⁠And bout not of famous Lucargus in vain.

FINIS.