THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, The mountains look on Marathon, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; |