Sons of Greeks! let us go

In arms against the foe,

Till their hated blood shall flow

In a river past our feet.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrant's yoke,

Let your country see you rising,

And all her chains are broke.

Brave shades of chiefs and sages,

Behold the coming strife!

Hellénes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!

At the sound of my trumpet, breaking

Your sleep, oh, join with me!

And the seven-hilled city[17] seeking,

Fight, conquer, till we're free.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie?

Awake, and join thy numbers

With Athens, old ally!

Leonidas recalling,

That chief of ancient song,

Who saved ye once from falling,

The terrible! the strong!

Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopylæ,

And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;

With his three hundred waging

The battle, long he stood,

And like a lion raging,

Expired in seas of blood.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]