CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Were a delight; and if the freshening sea - as I do here. 55 60 CLXXXV. My task is done my song hath ceased - my theme 65 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 A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell! He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; 75 80 [THE ISLES OF GREECE.] DON JUAN, CANTO III., THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! But all, except their sun, is set. 5 The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; 10 To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest." The mountains look on Marathon And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; 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? 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? 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? 35 40 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 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, 95 90 85 89 75 79 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, 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, 5 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! IO |