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MODERN GREECE.


VI.

By seas, that flow in brightness as they lave
Thy rocks, th' enthusiast, rapt in thought, may stray,
While roves his eye o'er that deserted wave,
Once the proud scene of battle's dread array.
—O ye blue waters! ye, of old that bore
The free, the conquering, hymn'd by choral strains,
How sleep ye now around the silent shore,
The lonely realm of ruins and of chains!
How are the mighty vanish'd in their pride!

E'en as their barks have left no traces on your tide.


VII.

Hush'd are the Pæans whose exulting tone
Swell'd o'er that tide2—the sons of battle sleep—
The wind's wild sigh, the halcyon's voice, alone
Blend with the plaintive murmur of the deep.
Yet when those waves have caught the splendid hues
Of morn's rich firmament, serenely bright,
Or setting suns the lovely shore suffuse
With all their purple mellowness of light,
Oh! who could view the scene, so calmly fair,

Nor dream that peace, and joy, and liberty, were there?
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