Hymn To Aristogeiton And Harmodius

Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal, Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home-- Where Achilles and Diomed rest. In fresh myrtle my blade I'll entwine, Like Harmodius, the gallant and good, When he made at the tutelar shrine A libation of Tyranny's blood.…