MOLOCH
Aristides E. (Aristides Evangelus) Phoutrides translation
Barbarians defile the land Where the Greek race was born! And where the loves flew garlanded, Night-bats roam to and fro! And in our night, as a glowworm, The ancients' memory Sends forth its greenish counterfeit Of light! It is a night That our undying sun cannot Dispel with its bright beams! From depths and heights, barbarians Suck soul and fatherland! And when with a low moan thrice-deep, We ask thee, Grecian God, "Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?" Grimly thou answerest, "Moloch, am I!"