The mountains look on Marathon— And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians’ grave, I could not deem myself a slave.

A boy in the clerical learn, Whose wandering fancy had not learned The breath of Freedom, as woods turn To note each whisper upward burned; Great like thy forests, and pine-hills, By ocean’s promise, free from their ills.

• George Gordon Lord Byron