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(From The Corsair)
SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, | |
| Along Morea’s hills the setting sun; | |
| Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, | |
| But one unclouded blaze of living light! | |
| O’er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, | 5 |
| Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. | |
| On old Ægina’s rock and Idra’s isle | |
| The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; | |
| O’er his own regions lingering loves to shine, | |
| Though there his altars are no more divine. | 10 |
| Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss | |
| Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis! | |
| Their azure arches through the long expanse | |
| More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, | |
| And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, | 15 |
| Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; | |
| Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, | |
| Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. | |
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| On such an eve his palest beam he cast, | |
| When—Athens! here thy wisest looked his last. | 20 |
| How watched thy better sons his farewell ray, | |
| That closed their murdered sage’s latest day! | |
| Not yet, not yet, Sol pauses on the hill, | |
| The precious hour of parting lingers still! | |
| But sad his light to agonizing eyes, | 25 |
| And dark the mountain’s once delightful dyes: | |
| Gloom o’er the lovely land he seemed to pour, | |
| The land where Phœbus never frowned before; | |
| But ere he sank below Cithæron’s head, | |
| The cup of woe was quaffed, the spirit fled; | 30 |
| The soul of him who scorned to fear or fly, | |
| Who lived and died, as none can live or die! | |
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| But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, | |
| The queen of night asserts her silent reign. | |
| No murky vapor, herald of the storm, | 35 |
| Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form; | |
| With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play, | |
| There the white column greets her grateful ray, | |
| And, bright around with quivering beams beset, | |
| Her emblem sparkles o’er the minaret: | 40 |
| The groves of olive scattered dark and wide | |
| Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide, | |
| The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, | |
| The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, | |
| And, dun and sombre mid the holy calm, | 45 |
| Near Theseus’ fane yon solitary palm, | |
| All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye, | |
| And dull were his that passed them heedless by. | |
| Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, | |
| Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; | 50 |
| Again his waves in milder tints unfold | |
| Their long array of sapphire and of gold, | |
| Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle, | |
| That frown, where gentler ocean seems to smile. | |
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