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XV.

Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removec By British hands, which it had best behoved To guard those relies ne'er to be restored. Curst be the honr wfeen from their isle they roved, And once again thy hapless bosom gored, And snatched thy shrinking Gods to northern dimes abhoi

XVI.

But where is Harold? shall 1 then forget To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? Little pecked he of all that men regret; No lovcd-one now in feigned lament could rave; No friend the parting hand extended gave, Ere the cold stranger passed to oiher climes: Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave; But Harold felt not as in other times, And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes.

XVII.

He that has sailed upon the dark blue sea, Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight; When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be. The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight; Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight. The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow.

XVIII.

And oh! the little warlike world w.'thin .'
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
The hoarse command, the busy humming din,
When, at a word, the tops are manned on high:
Hark to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
While through the seaman's hand the tackle" glides:
Or school-boy midshipman that, standing by,'
Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.

XIX,

White is flie glassy deck, without a stain, Where on the watch the staid lieutenant walks f Look on that part which sacred doth remam 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!
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
That lagging barks may make their lazy way.
Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay,
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze!
What leagues are lost before the dawn of day,
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas,
The flapping sail hauled down to halt for logs like these!

XXI.

The moon is up; by Heaveu a lovely eve I Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; How 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 feally move, Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.

XXII.

Through Calpe's straits survey the stcapy shore; Europe and Afric on each other gaze! Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze: How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase, But Mauritania's giant-shadows fi own, 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: The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though friendless now, will dreaiu it had a friend. Who with the weight of years would wish to bend, When louth itself survives young Love and Joy? Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Death bath but little left him to destroy! Ab I happy years! ooce more who would not be a boy? XXIV.

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side,
To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere,
The soul forgets her schemes of hope and pride,
And flies unconscious o'er each backward year.
Hone are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possessed
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear;
A flashing pang! of which the weary breast
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.

XXV.

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

XXVI.

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With noqe who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred conciousness endued,
If w.c were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all that flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

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XXVII,

More Llest the life of godly eremite,
Such as on lonely Athos may be seen,
Watching at eve upon the giant bright,
Which looks o'er waves so blne, skies so serene,
That he who there at such an hone hath been,
Will wistful linger on that hallowed spot;
Then slowly tear him from the 'witching scene,
Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot,
Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot.

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 aud 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 cHffs 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.

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