XV. Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. And snatched thy shrinking Gods to northern climes abho XVI. But where is Harold? shall I then forget No loved-one now in feigned lament could rave; And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. XVII. be, He that has sailed upon the dark blue sea, So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. XVIII. And oh the little warlike world within! The well-reeved the netted canopy, guns, The hoarse command, the busy humming din, XIX. White is the glassy deck, without a stain, Where on the watch the staid lieutenant walks Look on that part which sacred doth remain For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, Silent and feared by all-not oft he talks With aught beneath him, if he would preserve That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Conquest and fame : but Britons rarely swerve From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. XX. Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! The flapping sail hauled down to halt for logs like these! XXI. The moon is up; by Heaven a lovely eve! Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe: Such be our fate when we return to land! Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love; A circle there of merry listeners stand, Or to some well-known measure featly move, Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. XXII. Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore; Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down. XXIII. 'Tis night, when meditation bids us feel We once have loved, though love is at an end: Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? XXIV. year. Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, XXV. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. XXVI. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, XXVII More blest the life of godly eremite, Then slowly tear him from the 'witching scene, XXVIII. Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, And each well known caprice of wave and wind; Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Cooped in their winged sea-girt citadel; The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, As breezes rise and fall, and billows swell, Till on some jocund morn-lo, land! and all is well. XXIX. But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, The sister tenants of the middle deep; There for the weary still a haven smiles, Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : Here, too, his boy essayed the dreadful leap Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sighed. |