XII. But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast, To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared: 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, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains, 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 slave her bosom wrung, XIV. Where was thine Egis, Pallas! that appall'd Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way? Where Peleus' son? whom Hell in vain enthrall'd, Bursting to light in terrible array! What! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, 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 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; Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes: And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. XVII. He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sca So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. XVIII. And oh, the little warlike world within! XIX. 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. XX. Blow swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these! XXI. The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; 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 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: The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. Who with the weight of years would wish to bend, When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy? Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? XXIV. Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; XXV. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd. XXVI. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; F |