If not, o'er one fallen Despot boast no more!

In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears

For Europe's flowers long rooted up before

The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years

Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,

Have all been borne, and broken by the accord

Of roused-up millions: all that most endears

Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a Sword,

Such as Harmodius [2.B.] drew on Athens' tyrant Lord.