WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.
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he spell is broke, the charm is flown!Thus is it with Life's fitful fever:We madly smile when we should groan;Delirium is our best deceiver.Each lucid interval of thoughtRecalls the woes of Nature's charter;And _He_ that acts as _wise men ought_,But _lives_--as Saints have died--a martyr. [MS. M. First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to).] WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS.[7] 1. If, in the month of dark December,Leander, who was nightly wont(What maid will not the tale remember?)To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! 2. If, when the wintry tempest roared,He sped to Hero, nothing loth,And thus of old thy current poured,Fair Venus! how I pity both! 3. For _me_, degenerate modern wretch,Though in the genial month of May,My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,And think I've done a feat to-day. 4. But since he crossed the rapid tide,According to the doubtful story,To woo,--and--Lord knows what beside,And swam for Love, as I for Glory; 5. 'Twere hard to say who fared the best:Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!He lost his labour, I my jest:For he was drowned, and I've the ague.[8] _May 9, 1810._[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to).] LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.[9] IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:-- "Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son departTo trace the birth and nursery of art:Noble his object, glorious is his aim;He comes to Athens, and he--writes his name." BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING:-- The modest bard, like many a bard unknown,Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own;But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,His name would bring more credit than his verse. 1810.[First published, _Life_, 1830.] MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.[n] [Greek: Zoe/ mou, sa~s a)gapo~.] 1. Maid of Athens,[10] ere we part,Give, oh give me back my heart!Or, since that has left my breast,Keep it now, and take the rest!Hear my vow before I go,[Greek: Zoe/ mou, sa~s a)gapo~.][11] 2. By those tresses unconfined,Wooed by each AEgean wind;By those lids whose jetty fringeKiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;By those wild eyes like the roe,[Greek: Zoe/ mou, sa~s a)gapo~.] 3. By that lip I long to taste;By that zone-encircled waist;By all the token-flowers[12] that tellWhat words can never speak so well;By love's alternate joy and woe,[Greek: Zoe/ mou, sa~s a)gapo~.] 4. Maid of Athens! I am gone:Think of me, sweet! when alone.Though I fly to Istambol,[13]Athens holds my heart and soul:Can I cease to love thee? No![Greek: Zoe/ mou, sa~s a)gapo~.] _Athens_, 1810.[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to).] FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS."[14] 1. Beside the confines of the AEgean main,Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,And views opposed the Asiatic plain,Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,Like the great Father of the giant brood,With lowering port majestic Athos stands,Crowned with the verdure of eternal wood,As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,And throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands. 2. And deep embosomed in his shady grovesFull many a convent rears its glittering spire,Mid scenes where Heavenly Contemplation lovesTo kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,Where air and sea with rocks and woods conspireTo breathe a sweet religious calm around,Weaning the thoughts from every low desire,And the wild waves that break with murmuring soundAlong the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground. 3.
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