'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady Or gentleman of seventy years complete, Who've made us youth' wait too-too long already For an estate, or cash, or country seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Like Adam's recollection of his fall; The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd—all's known And life yields nothing further to recall Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. THE ISLES OF GREECE. [From Don Juan. Canto III.] The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, The mountains look on Marathon- I dreamed that Greece might still be free; A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And men in nations ;-all were his! The heroic bosom beats no more! 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; Must we but weep o'er days more blest? What, silent still? and silent all? And answer, 'Let one living head, But one arise,-we come, we come!' 'Tis but the living who are dumb. In vain-in vain strike other chords; And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; The nobler and the manlier one? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! It made Anacreon's song divine : He served but served Polycrates A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend; That tyrant was Miltiades! Oh! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind! Such chains as his were sure to bind. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Such as the Doric mothers bore; Trust not for freedom to the FranksThey have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die; A land of slaves shall ne'er be mineDash down yon cup of Samian wine! HAIDEE AND JUAN. [From Don Juan. Canto IV.] Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend, Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning; Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend, Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far, Till our own weakness shows us what we are. But time, which brings all beings to their level, As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow, And wish'd that others held the same opinion: They took it up when my days grew more mellow, And other minds acknowledged my dominion; Now my sere fancy falls into the yellow Leaf,' and Imagination droops her pinion, And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Turns what was once romantic to burlesque. And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep; and if I weep, 'Tis that our nature cannot always bring Itself to apathy, for we must steep Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring, A mortal mother would on Lethe fix. |