Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/642

602 We too will see Licoo; but—oh I my heart!—

What do I say?—to-morrow we depart!

IV.

Thus rose a song—the harmony of times

Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes.

True, they had vices—such are Nature's growth—

But only the barbarian's—we have both;

The sordor of civilisation, mixed

With all the savage which Man's fall hath fixed.

Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign,

The prayers of Abel linked to deeds of Cain?

Who such would see may from his lattice view

The Old World more degraded than the New,—

Now new no more, save where Columbia rears

Twin giants, born by Freedom to her spheres,

Where Chimborazo, over air,—earth,—wave,—

Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave.

V.

Such was this ditty of Tradition's days,

Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys

In song, where Fame as yet hath left no sign

Beyond the sound whose charm is half divine;

Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye,

But yields young History all to Harmony;

A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre

In hand, to teach him to surpass his sire.

For one long-cherished ballad's simple stave,

Rung from the rock, or mingled with the wave,