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Ambracia's gnlph behold, where once was lost A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing! In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Did many a Roman chief and Asian king To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring: Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose! Now, like the hands that reared them, withering: Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes! God! was thy globe ordained for such to win and lose?
From the daik barriers of that rugged clime, Ev'n to the centre of Itlyria's vales, C'hilde Harold passed o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Arc rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails , Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast.
He passed bleak Pindus, Achcrnsia's lake,
Moaastic Zitza! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favoured spot of holy ground! Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tmts, what magic charms are found! Bock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole: Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.
Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill,
Here in the sultriest season let him rest, Fresh in the gieen beneath those aged trees; Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: 'Ihe plain is far beneath—oh! let him seize Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray He-re picrceth not, impregnate with disease: Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. LI.
Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, Chimxra's alps extend from left lo right: Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain fir Nodding above : behold black Acheron! Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto! if this he hell I look upon, Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none!
Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view;
Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? What valley echoed the response of Jove? What trace remaineth of the thunderer's shrine? All, all forgotten—and shall man repine That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine: Would'st thou survive the marble or the oak? When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the sir LIV.
Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail; Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever spring ycladin grassy dye: Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, And woods along the banks are waving high, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moon-beam sleep in midnight's solemn trance.
The sun had sunk behind vast Tomcrit,
. The shades of wonted night were gathering yet,
Swelling thti>reeze that sighed along the lengthening glen.
He passed the sacred Haram's silent tower, And underneath the wide o'erarching gate Surveyed the dwelling of this chief of power, Where all around proclaimed his high estate. Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, While busy preparation shook the court, Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait; Within, a palace, and without, a fort: Here men of every clime appear to make resort.
Richly caparisoned, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store Circled the wide extending court below: Above, strange groups adorned the corridore; And oft-times through the area's echoing door Some high-capped Tartar spurred his steed away: The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, Here miualed in their many-hued array, While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of daj.
The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee,
Arc mixed conspicuous: some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round; There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, And some that smoke, and some th;it play, are found; Here the Albanian pioudly treads the ground; Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; Hark! from the mo«que the nightly solemn sound, The Muezzin's call doth shake the min.net, u ThereisnogodbutGod!—to prayer—lo! God is great!»