Alas! for fair Greece, how her glories are failed,
Her altars are broken, her trophies are gone,
The Crescent her temples and shrines hath invaded,
And Freedom hath bow'd to the Mussulman throne.

Fair Liberty say! shall the land of Achilles
Reluctantly cherish a dastardly slave,
Who can crouch at the foot of a despot, whose will is
As fickle as wind, and as rude as the wave?
Shall the ashes of heroes enshrouded in glory,
Be spurn'd in contempt by a barbarous horde,
While their sons idly tremble like boys at a story,
And shudder to gaze on the point of a sword?

Shall Greece, still as lovely as maiden in sorrow,
By Freedom's bright ray ne'er be beam'd on again?
Shall the sun of Engia ne'er rise on the morrow
That lightens her thraldom or loosens her chain?
Oh say, shall the proud eye of scorn fall unheeded,
The hand, taunting, point to "the land of the brave,"
And say that Achaia's fair daughters e'er needed
An arm to protect them--a hero to save.

Rise! courage alone your base station can alter,
Let Beauty, let Liberty, spirit you on,
And while fetters and stripes are their portion who falter,
Remember that Freedom's the stake to be won.