CLXXXIV And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy CLXXXV. 55 60 The spell should break of this protracted dream. Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. 70 CLXXXVI. Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been- He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; If such there were with you, the moral of his strain. 75 8c [THE ISLES OF GREECE.] DON JUAN, CANTO III. THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; To sounds which echo further west 5 ΙΟ And men in nations; - all were his! And where are they? and where art thou, The heroic lay is tuneless now The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 20 25 30 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? 35 For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blest? A remnant of our Spartan dead What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no; -the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, “Let one living head, But one arise, - we come, we come!" 'Tis but the living who are dumb. In vain in vain; strike other chords; Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine! 40 45 50 The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades! Oh! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind! Such chains as his were sure to bind. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Such as the Doric mothers bore; Trust not for freedom to the Franks - In native swords, and native ranks, Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. SHE walks in beauty, like the night One shade the more, one ray the less, Or softly lightens o'er her face; How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! 5 IO 15 SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day! 5 ΙΟ |