Edgar Allan Poe offers a fervent tribute to Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the ancient Athenian lovers who struck down a tyrant and became enduring symbols of freedom. The speaker imagines himself reenacting their daring act: hiding a sword under a myrtle wreath as they did during a festival, ready to strike. There’s a frank, almost breathless admiration here — he wants to share their courage, to feel the blade become a sacrament of liberation. The poem shifts from that moment of emulation to a vision of the heroes dwelling in a blissful afterlife among legends like Achilles and Diomed. A mood of exalted reverence and fierce devotion to liberty runs through every line. The final stanza swears their fame will outlast time itself, kept alive in songs that echo onward. It’s a compact, stirring celebration of political martyrdom and the way a single defiant act can feel almost holy.
Hymn To Aristogeiton And Harmodius — Summary
Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal, Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave.
Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home-- Where Achilles and Diomed rest.
In fresh myrtle my blade I'll entwine, Like Harmodius, the gallant and good, When he made at the tutelar shrine A libation of Tyranny's blood.
Ye deliverers of Athens from shame! Ye avengers of Liberty's wrongs! Endless ages shall cherish your fame, Embalmed in their echoing songs!