Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/96

62 Some gentle Spirit still pervades the spot,

Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the Cave,

And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.

LXIII.

Of thee hereafter.—Ev'n amidst my strain

I turned aside to pay my homage here;

Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain;

Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear;

And hailed thee, not perchance without a tear.

Now to my theme—but from thy holy haunt

Let me some remnant, some memorial bear;"

Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant,

Nor let thy votary's hope be deemed an idle vaunt.

LXIV.

But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was young,

See round thy giant base a brighter choir,

Nor e'er did Delphi, when her Priestess sung

The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire,

Behold a train more fitting to inspire

The song of love, than Andalusia's maids,