Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/502

458 The God of gladness sheds his parting smile;

O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,

Though there his altars are no more divine.

Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss

Thy glorious Gulf, unconquered Salamis!

Their azure arches through the long expanse,

More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,

And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,

Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;

Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,

Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve his palest beam he cast

When, Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.

How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,

That closed their murdered Sage's latest day!

Not yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill,

The precious hour of parting lingers still;

But sad his light to agonizing eyes,

And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes;

Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,

The land where Phœbus never frowned before;

But ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,

The cup of Woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;