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,
Leander, who was nightly wont

(What maid will not the tale remember?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!

2.

If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Fair Venus! how I pity both!

3.

For me, degenerate modern wretch,
Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,

And think I've done a feat to-day.

4.

But since he cross'd the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,

To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

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,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;

By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;

By those wild eyes like the roe,

Ζώη μᾶ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ,

3.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;

By all the token-flowers (3) that tell
What words can never speak so well;

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.