—Yet one*[1] there was, who not with passive song,
Beheld thy conflict, or bemoan'd thy wrong;—
Bold to thine aid the lyre and sword he brought,
And doubly arm'd, thy front of danger sought;
Rear'd thy red banner o'er the Egean wave,
Unseal'd his coffers, and his spirit gave.
Cold rests his heart within thy hallow'd bowers,
And Helle's maidens wreath its shrine with flowers.—
—Genius of Greece! who drank his latest sigh,
Raise toward the Queen of Isle's thy mourning eye;
She marks the sons who round her sceptre crowd,
Stern to their sins, but of their talents proud:
Say, "for my sake thy wayward bard forgive,
Since, bound with mine, his deathless name shall live;
Breathe o'er his filial urn one sorrowing sigh,
And in his glory let his frailties die."
TO THE MOON.
Hail beauteous and inconstant!—Thou who roll'st
Thy silver car around the realm of night,
Queen of soft hours! how fanciful art thou
In equipage and vesture.—Now thou com'st
With slender horn piercing the western cloud,
As erst on Judah's hills, when joyous throngs
With trump and festival saluted thee;
Anon thy waxing crescent 'mid the host
Of constellations, like some fairy boat,
- ↑ * Byron.
