LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird,
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight;
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn
Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;...
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From “The Bride of Abydos”
KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime;
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
Know ye the land of the cedar...
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To His Sister
“Childe Harold,” Canto III.
THE CASTLED crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossomed trees,
And...
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From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
ARCHES on arches! as it were that Rome,
Collecting the chief trophies of her line,
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome,
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine
As ’t were its natural torches, for divine...
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From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
SIMPLE, erect, severe, austere, sublime,—
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
From Jove to Jesus,—spared and blest by time;
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and...
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From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
VASTNESS which grows, but grows to harmonize,
All musical in its immensities;
Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flame
The lamps of gold, and haughty dome which vies
In air with earth’s chief structures,...
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From the Latin by Sir Charles Bowen
From The “Æneid”
ÆNEAS, speaking to Dido, Queen of Carthage
FORWARD we fare,
Called to the palace of Priam by war-shouts rending the air.
Here of a truth raged battle, as though no combats beside
Reigned elsewhere...
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From “The Giaour”
CLIME of the unforgotten brave!
Whose land, from plain to mountain-cave,
Was Freedom’s home or Glory’s grave!
Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave;
Say,...
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From “Childe Harold” Canto II.
FAIR Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!
Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth,
And long-accustomed bondage uncreate?
Not such thy sons who whilom did await...
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From “Don Juan,” Canto III.
THE ISLES of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phœbus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet;
But all, except their sun, is...
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