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But the boy bore up long, and with a Where Delos rose, and Phæbus mild
sprung! And patient spirit held aloof his fate; Eternal summer gilds them yet, Little he said, and now and then he But all, except their sun, is set.
smiled, As if to win a heart from off the The Scian and the Teian muse, weight,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute, He saw increasing on his father's heart, Have found the fame your shores reWith the deep deadly thought that they
fuse; must part.
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west And o'er him bent his sire, and never
Than your sires' “ Islands of the Blest." raised His eyes from off his face, but wiped | The mountains look on Marathon the foam
And Marathon looks on the sea; From his pale lips, and ever on him
And musing there an hour alone, gazed,
I dreamed that Greece might still be And when the wished-for shower at
free; length was come,
For standing on the Persians' grave, And the boy's eyes, which the dull film
I could not deem myself a slave. half glazed, Brightened, and for a moment seemed
A king sat on the rocky brow to roam,
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis, He squeezed from out a rag some drops
And ships, by thousands, lay below, of rain
And men in nations; all were his! Into his dying child's mouth — but in
He counted them at break of day vain.
And when the sun set, where were The boy expired the father held the
they? clay, And looked upon it long, and when
And where are they? and where art at last
thou, Death left no doubt, and the dead bur- My country? On thy voiceless shore den lay
The heroic lay is tuneless now — Stiff on his heart, and pulse and
The heroic bosom beats no more ! hope were past,
And must thy lyre, so long divine, He watched it wistfully, until away
Degenerate into hands like mine? Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast;
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Then he himself sunk down all dumb
Though linked among a fettered race, and shivering,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
THE ISLES OF GREECE.
[Don Juan, Canto iii.] THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and
sung, Where grew the arts of war and
Must we but weep o'er the days more
blest? Must we but blush? - Our fathers
bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylä!
Like freedom to the time-worn slave, 'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last A boon 'tis idle then to give,
Thy features still serene to see: Relenting Nature vainly gave
Forgetful of its struggles past, My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! E’en Pain itself should smile on thee. My Thyrza's pledge in better days, But vain the wish — for Beauty still
When love and life alike were new! Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing How different, now thou meet'st my
And woman's tears, produced at will, How tinged by time with sorrow's Deceive in life, unman in death.
hue! The heart that gave itself with thee Then lonely be my latest hour,
Is silent - ah, were mine as still! Without regret, without a groan; Though cold as e'en the dead can be, For thousands Death hath ceased to It feels, it sickens with the chill.
And pain been transient or Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful
known. token! Though painful, welcome to
my Ay, but to die, and go," alas ! breast !
Where all have gone, and all must go! Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, | To be the nothing that I was Or break the heart to which thou'rt Ere born to life and living woe.
pressed! Time tempers love, but not removes, Count o'er the joys thine hours have More hallowed when its hope is fled:
seen, Oh! what are thousand living loves Count o'er thy days from anguish To that which cannot quit the dead?
free, And know, whatever thou hast been,
'Tis something better not to be.
Like common earth can rot;
One vigil o'er thy bed;
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain, As fervently as thou,
Nor thou nor I can feel again. Who didst not change through all the past,
Yet how much less it were to gain, And canst not alter now.
Though thou hast left me free, The love where Death has set his seal, The loveliest things that still remain, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Than thus remember thee! Vor falsehood disavow:
The all of thine that cannot die
Returns again to me,
Than aught, except its living years.
The worst can be but mine :
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS lowers, Shall never more be thine.
Thine image from my breast may Nor need I to repine
fade, That all those charms have passed | The lonely hour presents again away;
The semblance of thy gentle shade: I might have watched through long de- And now that sad and silent hour cay.
Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour The flower in ripened bloom unmatched
The plaint she dare not speak before. Must fall the earliest prey; Though by no hand untimely snatched, Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile The leaves must drop away:
I waste one thought I owe to thee, And yet it were a greater grief
And, self-condemned, appear to smile, To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Unfaithful to thy memory! Than see it plucked to-day;
Nor deem that memory less dear, Since earthly eye but ill can bear
That then I seem not to repine; To trace the change to foul from fair. I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine. I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade;
If not the goblet pass unquaffed, The night that followed such a morn It is not drained to banish care; Had worn a deeper shade:
The cup must hold a deadlier draught, Thy day without a cloud hath passed, That brings a Lethe for despair. And thou wert lovely to the last : And could Oblivion set my so Extinguished, not decayed;
From all her troubled visions free, As stars that shoot along the sky
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl Shine brightest as they fall from high. That drowned a single thought of thee. As once I wept, if I could weep, For wert thou vanished from my mind, My tears might well be shed,
Where could my vacant bosom turn? To think I was not near to keep
And who would then remain behind