Than stagnate in our marsh,—or o'er the deep One freeman more, America, to thee! POEMS. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 1. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone 2. And when by thee that name is read, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. September 14th, 1809., TO *** OH Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore, which gave me birth, YOL. VI.-Q But wheresoe'er I now may roam, I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee: All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share, Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee, Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of beauty in distress? Ah! who would think that form had past Through Danger's most destructive path, Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast, And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath? Lady! when I shall view the walls Where free Byzantium once arose; The Turkish tyrants now enclose; And though I bid thee now farewell, STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN GULF, NOVEMBER 14, 1809. 1. THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, Fuli beams the moon on Actium's coast: And on these waves, for Egypt's queen, The ancient world was won and lost. And now upon the scene I look, That azure grave of many a Roman; 3. Florence! whom I will love as well 4. Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times, . When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes: Had bards as many realms as rhymes, Thy charms might raise new Antonies. 5. Though Fate forbids such things to be, But would not lose thee for a world. STANZA. Composed October 11th, 1809, during the night, in a thunder-storm, when the guides had lost the road to Zita, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania. 1. CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast, 2. Our guides are gone, our hope is lost, And lightnings, as they play, But show where rocks our path have crost, 3. Is yon a cot I saw, though low? 4. Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, My way-worn countrymen, who calls 5. A shot is fired-by foe or friend? The mountain peasants to descend, |