Yes! Self-abasement paved the way What can he tell who treads thy shore? No theme on which the muse might soar, When man was worthy of thy clime. 140 145 Now crawl from cradle to the grave, 150 Slaves-nay, the bondsmen of a slave," And callous, save to crime; Stained with each evil that pollutes Mankind, where least above the brutes; 155 Without one free or valiant breast. Still to the neighbouring ports they waft In this the subtle Greek is found, For this, and this alone, renowned. 160 In vain might Liberty invoke The spirit to its bondage broke, Or raise the neck that courts the yoke: VOL. II. B Yet this will be a mournful tale, And they who listen may believe, Who heard it first had cause to grieve. 165 Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing, Start on the fisher's eye like boat 170 He shuns the near but doubtful creek: 175 Receives him by the lovely light That best becomes an Eastern night. * Who thundering comes on blackest steed, With slackened bit and hoof of speed? Beneath the clattering iron's sound The caverned echoes wake around Seems gathered from the ocean-tide: 181 185 Though weary waves are sunk to rest, But in thy lineaments I trace What time shall strengthen, not efface: 191 195 As meteor like thou glidest by, Right well I view and deem thee one Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. On-on he hastened, and he drew My gaze of wonder as he flew : Though like a demon of the night He passed and vanished from my sight, A troubled memory on my breast, And long upon my startled ear Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. Ba 200 205 210 For well I ween unwelcome he Why looks he o'er the olive wood? The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still: In echoes of the far tophaike, 215 220 225 The flashes of each joyous peal Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal, He stood Soon Hatred settled in its place: It rose not with the reddening flush 230 235 But pale as marble o'er the tomb, 240 Impatient of his flight delayed, Here loud his raven charger neighed 245 Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade; That sound had burst his waking dream, As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; 250 'Twas but a moment that he stood, And gather in that drop of time 260 |