LVI.
Hadst thou but perish’d with the free, nor known
A second race, when glory’s noon went by,
Then had thy name in single brightness shone
A watchword on the helm of liberty!
Thou shouldst have pass’d with all the light of fame,
And proudly sunk in ruins, not in chains.
But slowly set thy star midst clouds of shame,
And tyrants rose amidst thy falling fanes;
And thou, surrounded by thy warriors’ graves,
Hast drain’d the bitter cup once mingled for thy slaves.