The Siege of Valencia; The Last Constantine: with Other Poems/The Myrtle-Bough
VI.
THE MYRTLE-BOUGH.
Still green, along our sunny shore
The flowering myrtle waves,
As when its fragrant boughs of yore
Were offer'd on the graves;
The graves, wherein our mighty men
Had rest, unviolated then.
Still green it waves! as when the hearth
Was sacred through the land;
And fearless was the banquet's mirth,
And free the minstrel's hand;
And guests, with shining myrtle crown'd,
Sent the wreath'd lyre and wine-cup round.
Still green! as when on holy ground
The tyrant's blood was pour'd:
—Forget ye not what garlands bound
The young deliverer's sword!
—Though earth may shrowd Harmodius now,
We still have sword and myrtle-bough!