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Σέ γνωρίζω
ἀπό τήν κόψη
τοῦ σπαθιοῦ
τήν τρομερή.
Σέ γνωρίζω ἀπό
τήν ὄψη
πού μέ βιά
μετράει τή γῆ.
Ἀπ’ τά
κόκκαλα
βγαλμένη
τῶν Ἑλλήνων τά
ἱερά
καί σάν πρῶτα ἀντρειωμένη
χαῖρε, ὦ χαῖρ’
ἐλευθεριά.
Sé gnorízo apó tḗn kópse
toú spathioú tḗn tromerḗ.
Sé gnorízo apó tḗn ópse
poú mé biá metráei tḗ gḗ.
Ap’ tá kókkala bgalmḗne
tṓn Hellḗnon tá hierá
kaí sán prṓta antreiomḗne
chaíre, ṓ chaír’ eleutheriá.
I shall always recognise you
By the dreadful sword you hold,
As the earth, with searching vision,
You survey, with spirit bold.
'Twas the Greeks of old whose dying
Brought to birth our spirit free.
Now, with ancient valour rising,
Let us hail you, oh Liberty!
We knew thee of old,
Oh, divinely restored,
By the lights of thine eyes,
And the light of thy Sword.
From the graves of our slain,
Shall thy valour prevail,
As we greet thee again,
Hail, Liberty! Hail!