...and the lofty eloquence of our own Plato himself, and who is a Greek in feeling, if not in country, And where are they ? And where art thou, My country?...lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! Must "we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled ! Earth 1 render back...

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...deem myself a slave. A King sat on the lofty brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; all were...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so. long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something in the dearth...

...deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; all were...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth...

...deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all...them at break of day — And when the sun set where w»re they ? And where are they ? and where art thou. My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic...

...the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men and nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And where are they ? and where art thou, My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless...

...deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? T is something, in the dearth...

...deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis: And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth...

...o'er sea-born Salamis, And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all were his ! Ha counted them, at break of day — And, when the sun...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And mutt thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like nine ? Must we but weep o'er days more...

...deem myself a slave. A King sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; — all...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth...