LXXIII.

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed Worth![33.B.] Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, And long accustomed bondage uncreate? Not such thy sons who whilome did await, The helpless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thermopylæ's sepulchral strait-- Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb?[180]