Homer ("Smyrns of Chios")

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriot's fate,
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Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriot's fate,
Who hangs his head for shame?

Ajax the great . . .
Himself a host.

Ajax the great . . .
Himself a host.

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

This, this is misery! the last, the worst,
That man can feel.

This, this is misery! the last, the worst,
That man can feel.

Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore;
Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.

Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore;
Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.