Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/304

272 Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide;

The cypress saddening by the sacred Mosque,

The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk;

And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,

Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,

All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye—

And dull were his that passed them heedless by.

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,

Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;

Again his waves in milder tints unfold

Their long array of sapphire and of gold,

Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle,

That frown—where gentler Ocean seems to smile.

II.

Not now my theme—why turn my thoughts to thee?

Oh! who can look along thy native sea.

Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale,

So much its magic must o'er all prevail?

Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set,

Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget?

Not he—whose heart nor time nor distance frees,

Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades!