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Composed October 11th, 1809, during the night, in a thunder
storm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania.
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.
Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,
Or gild the torrent's spray.
When lightning broke the gloom-
"Tis but a Turkish tomb.
Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
I hear a voice exclaim
On distant England's name.
A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
Another—'tis to tell
And lead us where they dwell.
Oh! who in such a night will dare
To tempt the wilderness ?
Our signal of distress?
And who that heard our shouts would rise
To try the dubious road ?
That outlaws were abroad.
Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!
To keep my bosom warm.
While wand'ring through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow; While elements exhaust their wrath,
Sweet Florence, where art thou ?
Not on the sea, not on the sea;
Thy bark hath long been gone: Oh, may the storm that
pours on me Bow down my head alone !
Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I press'd thy lip;
Impell’d thy gallant ship.
Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain; "Twere hard if ought so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.
And since I now remember thee
In darkness and in dread, As in those hours of revelry
Which mirth and music sped ;
14. Do thou amidst the fair white walls,
If Cadiz yet be free,
Look o'er the dark blue sea;
Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;
To me a single sigh.
And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,
Of melancholy grace,
Again thou 'lt smile, and blushing shun
Some coxcomb's raillery; Nor own for once thou thought'st of one,
Who ever thinks on thee.
Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
When sever'd hearts repine,
And mourns in search of thine.