Cuộc hành hương của chàng hiệp sĩ Childe Harolds - Khúc thứ ba (20) Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (20)

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (20)

If not, o’er one fallen despot boast no more!
In vain fair cheeks were furrow’d with hot tears
For Europe’s flowers long rooted up before
The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
Of roused-up millions: all that most endears
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword
Such as Harmodius drew on Athens’ tyrant lord.