'Twas an hour of fearful issues,
     When the bold three hundred stood,
For their love of holy freedom,
     By that old Thessalian flood;
When, lifting high each sword of flame,
     They called on every sacred name,
And swore, beside those dashing waves,
     They never, never, would be slaves!

And Oh! that oath was nobly kept:
     From morn, to setting sun,
Did desperation urge the fight,
     Which valour had begun;
Till, torrent-like, the stream of blood
     Ran down, and mingled with the flood,
And all, from mountain-cliff, to wave,
     Was Freedom's, Valour's, Glory's grave.

Oh, yes, that oath was nobly kept,
     Which nobly, had been sworn;
And proudly, did each gallant heart
     The foeman's fetters spurn;
And firmly, was the fight maintained,
     And amply, was the triumph gained;
They fought, fair Liberty, for Thee;
     They fell; to die is to be free.

Project Canterbury