30 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; 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 frown, From mountain cliff to coast descending sombre down. XXIII. "Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel We once have loved, though love is at end. The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. Who with the weight of years would wish to bend When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy? Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah! happy years! once 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. None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd 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 store unroll'd. 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 none who bless us, none whom we can bless. Minions of splendor, shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued: This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! Pique her and sooth in turn, soon Passion crowns But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at mar thy hopes. XXXV. Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true, Still to the last it rankles, a disease, tial wight. XLI. But when he saw the evening star above Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, Land of Albania! where Iskander rose, ken. dross? GOD! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall se lose? for none! In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring It chanced that adverse winds nce drove his bark LXVIII. Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, Kinder than polish'd slaves, though not so bland, And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp, And spread their fare; though homely, all they had. Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stampTo rest the weary and to sooth the sad, The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with Dotl lesson happier men, and shames at least the disgrace. bad. |