Page:Records of Woman.pdf/29

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Fear!—I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death? A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? ****** I will not live degraded. Sardanapolus.

from the woods with the citron-flowers, Come with your lyres for the festal hours, Maids of bright Scio! They came, and the breeze Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas;— They came, and Eudora stood rob'd and crown'd, The bride of the morn, with her train around.