XVI.

Oh, Greece! thy flourishing cities were a spoil

Unto each other; thy hard hand oppressed

And crushed the helpless; thou didst make thy soil

Drunk with the blood of those that loved thee best;

And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast,

Thy just and brave to die in distant climes;

Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest

From thine abominations; after times,

That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes.

Poems by William Cullen Bryant · 第 29 / 247 题