Go shroud thee in the mist of olden time,
Amid the ruins of the past;
Go tread the templed hills of Orient clime,
And list to patriot bards, whose songs sublime
Inspired, like peal of trumpet blast,
The mountaineers, and woke the slumbering vales,
Ere Greece was heard to pour her funeral wails.

Though fallen, glorious still, O Greece, thy fate! —
Glorious 'neath centuries of night!
For thine the classic land, the ancient state,
Where sprang the sister arts; and where the great,
The good, the wise, who sought the right,
Have reared to ages, as they fleetly run,
A proud philosophy, surpassed by none.

But where are now thy beautiful and brave,
Thy temples, gods, and festal games?
Awe-struck, we trace the isles that gem thy wave,
And point to Athens, and revere thy grave;
Yes, oft repeat thine honored names
Of heroes, poets, orators, and sage,
And feel thine influence still in every age.