Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/448

406 Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone

Till I had bodied forth the heated mind

Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind:

CV.

And from the planks, far shattered o'er the rocks,

Built me a little bark of hope, once more

To battle with the Ocean and the shocks

Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar

Which rushes on the solitary shore

Where all lies foundered that was ever dear:

But could I gather from the wave-worn store

Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer?

There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here.

CVI.

Then let the Winds howl on! their harmony

Shall henceforth be my music, and the Night

The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry,

As I now hear them, in the fading light

Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site,

Answering each other on the Palatine,

With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright,

And sailing pinions.—Upon such a shrine

What are our petty griefs?—let me not number mine.