The Urn and Sword.
They sought for treasures in the tomb,
Where gentler hands were wont to spread
Fresh boughs and flowers of purple bloom,
And sunny ringlets, for the dead.[250]
They scatter’d far the greensward heap,
Where once those hands the bright wine pour’d;
—What found they in the home of sleep?—
A mouldering urn, a shiver’d sword!
An urn, which held the dust of one
Who died when hearths and shrines were free;
A sword, whose work was proudly done
Between our mountains and the sea.
And these are treasures!—undismay’d,
Still for their suffering land we trust,
Wherein the past its fame hath laid
With freedom’s sword and valour’s dust.
[250] See Potter’s Grecian Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 234.