The Greek Boy (William Cullen Bryant)

THE GREEK BOY (William Cullen Bryant) . Gone are the glorious Greeks of old, Glorious in mien and mind; Their bones are mingled with the mould, Their dust is on the wind; The forms they hewed from living stone Survive the waste of years, alone, And, scattered with their ashes, show What greatness perished long ago. . Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs Gush brightly as of yore; Flowers blossom from the dust of kings, As many an age before. There nature moulds as nobly now, As e'er of old, the human brow; And copies still the martial form That braved Plataea's battle storm. . Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek Their heaven in Hellas' skies: Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek, Her sunshine lit thine eyes; Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains Heard by old poets, and thy veins Swell with the blood of demigods, That slumber in thy country's sods. . Now is thy nation free--though late-- Thy elder brethren broke-- Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight, The intolerable yoke. And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see Her youth renewed in such as thee: A shoot of that old vine that made The nations silent in its shade.