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NOT in sunk Spain’s prolong’d death agony; Not in rich England, bent but to make pour The flood of the world’s commerce on her shore; Not in that madhouse, France, from whence the cry Afflicts grave Heaven with its long senseless roar; Not in American vulgarity, Nor wordy German imbecility— Lies any hope of heroism more. Hungarians! Save the world! Renew the stories Of men who against hope repell’d the chain, And make the world’s dead spirit leap again On land renew that Greek exploit, whose glories Hallow the Salaminian promontories, And the Armada flung to the fierce main. |