Ancient Greek Chant of Victory

Io! they come, they come!
Garlands for every shrine!
Strike lyres to greet them home;
Bring roses, pour ye wine!

Swell, swell the Dorian flute
Through the blue triumphant sky!
Let the cittern’s tone salute
The sons of victory.

With the offering of bright blood
They have ransom’d hearth and tomb,
Vineyard, and field, and flood;--
Io! they come, they come!

Sing it where olives wave,
And by the glittering sea,
And o’er each hero’s grave--
Sing, sing, the land is free!

Mark ye the flashing oars,
And the spears that light the deep?
How the festal sunshine pours
Where the lords of battle sweep!

Each hath brought back his shield;--
Maid, greet thy lover home!
Mother, from that proud field,
Io! thy son is come!

Who murmur’d of the dead?
Hush, boding voice! We know
That many a shining head
Lies in its glory low.

Breathe not those names to-day!
They shall have their praise ere long,
And a power all hearts to sway,
In ever-burning song.

But now shed flowers, pour wine,
To hail the conquerors home!
Bring wreaths for every shrine--
Io! they come, they come!