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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madded to crime?

Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

Fair Greece! and relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more; though fallen great!

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung. Where grew the arts of war and peace,-- Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.

Such is the aspect of this shore; 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there.

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.

To Greece we give our shining blades.

Nobody can say a word against Greek: it stamps a man at once as an educated gentlemen.