If Fate, though jealous of the second birth
Of names in history raised to high degree,
Permits that Athens yet once more shall be,
Let her be placed as suits the thought and worth
Of those, who, during long oppression's dearth,
Went out from Hydra and Ipsara free,
Making their homestead of the chainless sea,
And hardly touching their enslavèd earth.
So on the shore, in sight of Salamis,
On the Piraean and Phalerian bays,
With no harsh contrast of what was and is,
Let Athens rise; while in the distance stands,
Like something hardly raised by human hands,
The awful skeleton of ancient days!
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