OF HELLAS DEAD
MID wrecks of Hellas dead in marble state,
Whose relics whiten still Ægean’s shore,
Gold treasuries of kings, Art’s precious ore,
Cast up by Time’s slow waves to us so late:
It reached me then these things to meditate—
How fell such pillared state, how lost its lore?
What palsy touched the hand, what ate the core
Of ancient life—why Hellas met such fate?
And so methought of nations now that sail
Upon the wings of commerce and of gold,
With new-found force electric, iron and steam,
To yoke fierce Nature’s neck; shall these avail
To save us, or our toil-wrung wealth redeem,
If Freedom fair, and justice loose their hold?