With the leaves of the myrtle I’ll cover my brand,
Like Harmodius and Aristogiton of yore;
When the tyrant they slew, and their dear native land
They caused with just laws to be governed once more.

O, beloved Harmodius! thou still art not dead,
In the Isles of the Blest thou still livest, they say;
Where the swift-heel’d Achilles and bold Diomed
Through sweet flowery meadows continually stray.

With the leaves of the myrtle I’ll cover my blade,
Like Harmodius and Aristogiton of yore;
Who, whilst the high rites to Athena were paid,
The bold tyrant Hipparchus extended in gore.

And on earth ever, ever your glory shall glow,
Harmodius and Aristogiton, sun-bright;
Because ye the damnable tyrant laid low,
And restored to your country her law and her right.