XII. But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast To rive what Goth, and Turk, andTime hath spared: 10 Cold as the crags upon his native coast," His mind as barren and his heart as hard, Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared, Aught to displace Athena's poor remains : Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,12 And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's chains. XIII. What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue, Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung, XIV. Where was thine Ægis, Pallas! that appall'd Where Peleus' son? whom Hell in vain enthrall'd, His shade from Hades upon that dread day Bursting to light in terrible array! What could not Pluto spare the chief once more, To scare a second robber from his prey? Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore, Nor now preserv'd the walls he loved to shield before. XV. Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, And once again thy hapless bosom gored, And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern climes abhorr'd! XVI. But where is Harold? shall I then forget To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? No loved-one now in feign'd lament could rave; And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. XVII. He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. XVIII. And oh, the little warlike world within! The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy," The hoarse command, the busy humming din, When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high: Hark, to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry! While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides; Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by, Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. ΧΙΧ, White is the glassy deck, without a stain, Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks: Look on that part which sacred doth remain For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, Silent and fear'd by all-not oft he talks With aught beneath him, if he would preserve That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Conquest and fame: but Britons rarely swerve From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. 15 XX. Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these! ΧΧΙ. The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! 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; 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 an end: Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? |