TO THOMAS MOORE My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee! Here's a sigh to those who love me, Though the ocean roar around me, Were't the last drop in the well, "Tis to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, FROM CHILDE HAROLD. CANTO IV 1821. Although I found her thus, we did not part. Perchance even dearer in her day of woe, I can repeople with the past-and of And meditation chasten'd down,enough; And of the happiest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some 1 From thee, fair Venice! have their colors caught: There are some feelings Time cannot benumb, Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. But my soul wanders; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand [St. 25 A ruin amidst ruins; there to track Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land Which was the mightiest in its old command, And is the loveliest, and must ever be The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand; Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, The beautiful, the brave, the lords of earth and sea, The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome! And even since, and now, fair Italy! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can de cree; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. The moon is up, and yet it is not night; Sunset divides the sky with her; a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colors seems to be, Melted to one vast Iris of the West,Where the Day joins the past Eternity, While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island. of the blest! A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill, As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order :-gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose. Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows, Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new color as it gasps away, In their shut breast their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod you way O'er steps of broken thrones and ten ples, Ye! Whose agonies are evils of a dayA world is at our feet as fragile as ou clay. The Niobe of nations! there she stands Childless and crownless, in her voiceles woe; An empty urn within her wither hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; She saw her glories star by star expire. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Where the car climb'd the Capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night? Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be. And Freedom find no champion and no child Such as Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled? Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington? Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore? |