LII. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, What valley echo'd 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 : Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak? When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! LII. Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail; Tir'd of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye; Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moon-beam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. LIV. " The Sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, 25 And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; 26 The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh, Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. LV. He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, 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. LVI. Richly caparison'd, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store While the deep war-drum's sound announc'd the close of day. LVII. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak, LVIII. Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round; There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, "There is no god but God!—to prayer-lo! God is great!" As LIX. Just at this season Ramazani's fast Through the long day its penance did maintain : But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Revel and feast assum'd the rule again : LX. Here woman's voice is never heard: apart, And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to rove, And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, Blest cares! all other feelings far above! Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares, LXI In marble-pav'd pavilion, where a spring And soft voluptuous couches breath'd repose, ALI reclin'd, a man of war and woes; Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged venerable face, The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. |