Page:Poems (Bryant, 1821).djvu/22



Oh Greece! thy flourishing cities were a spoil

Unto each other; thy hard hand oppress’d

And crush’d the helpless; thou didst make thy soil

Drunk with the blood of those that lov’d thee best;

And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast,

Thy just and brave to die in distant climes;

Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sigh’d for rest

From thine abominations; after times

That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes.

Yet there was that within thee which has sav’d

Thy glory, and redeem’d thy blotted name;

The story of thy better deeds, engrav’d

On fame’s unmouldering pillar, puts to shame

Our chiller virtue; the high art to tame

The whirlwind of the passions was thine own;

And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came,

Far over many a land and age has shone,

And mingles with the light that beams from God’s own throne.