Sons of th Greeks, Arise!
The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
display who gave us birth.
Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages.
Behold the coming strife!
Hellénes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hilled city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.
Byron
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