32

THE ISLES OF GREECE.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade-
I see their glorious black eyes shine;

But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

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 mine-
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

Lord Byron.

EXURGAT HELLAS.

333

EXURGAT HELLAS.

THE world's great age begins anew,
The golden years return,

The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn:

Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam

Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;

A new Peneus rolls his fountains
Against the morning star;

Where fairer Tempes bloom, there slcep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,

And loves, and weeps, and dies;
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.

Oh! write no more the tale of Troy,
If earth death's scroll must be-
Nor mix with Laian rage the joy
Which dawns upon the free,.
Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew.

Modern Poets.

༢

34

EXURGAT HELLAS.

Another Athens shall arise,
And to remoter time

Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,
The splendour of its prime:

And leave, if nought so bright may live,
All earth can take or heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose
Shall burst, more bright and good
Than all who fell, than one who rose,
Than many unsubdued:

Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,
But votive tears and symbol dowers.

Ch cease! must hate and death return!
Cease! most men kill and die!
Cease! drain not to its dregs the am
Of bitter prophecy!

The world is weary of the past-
Ch might it die or rest at last!

34

EXURGAT HELLAS.

Another Athens shall arise,
And to remoter time

Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,
The splendour of its prime;

And leave, if nought so bright may live,
All earth can take or heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose

Shall burst, more bright and good
Than all who fell, than one who rose,
Than many unsubdued:

Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,
But votive tears and symbol flowers.

Oh cease! must hate and death return?
Cease! must men kill and die?
Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn
Of bitter prophecy!

The world is weary of the past,—
Oh might it die or rest at last!

P. B. Shelley.