WRITTEN AT ATHENS. JANUARY 16, 1810. THE spell is broke, the charm is flown! Thus is it with life's fitful fever: We madly smile when we should groan; Delirium is our best deceiver. Each lucid interval of thought Recalls the woes of Nature's charter, And he that acts as wise men ought, But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS. (1) MAY 9, 1810. 1. IF, in the month of dark December, (What maid will not the tale remember?) 2. If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, 3. For me, degenerate modern wretch, And think I've done a feat to-day. 4. But since he cross'd the rapid tide, To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside, 5. "Twere hard to say who fared the best: Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you! He lost his labour, I my jest: For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. SONG. Ζώη με, σὰς ἀγαπῶ. (2) ATHENS, 1810. 1. MAID of Athens, ere we part, By those tresses unconfined, By those lids whose jetty fringe By those wild eyes like the roe, Ζώη μᾶ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ, 3. By that lip I long to taste; By all the token-flowers (3) that tell By Love's alternate joy and woe, Ζώη με, σάς ἀγαπῶ. 4. Maid of Athens! I am gone: Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, (4) Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Ζώη μᾶ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ. |