Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/50

36


 * How lone this palace is; how grey the walls!

No minstrel now wakes echoes in these halls. The broken chain lies rusting on the door. And noisome weeds have split the marble floor: Here lurks the snake, and here the lizards run By the stone lions blinking in the sun. Byron dwelt here in love and revelry For two long years—a second Anthony, Who of the world another Actium made!— Yet suffered not his royal soul to fade, Or lyre to break, or lance to grow less keen, 'Neath any wiles of an Egyptian queen. For from the East there came a mighty cry, And Greece stood up to fight for Liberty, And called him from Ravenna: never knight Rode forth more nobly to wild scenes of fight! None fell more bravely on ensanguined field, Borne like a Spartan back upon his shield! O Hellas! Hellas! in thine hour of pride, Thy day of might, remember him who died To wrest from off thy limbs the trammelling chain: O Salamis! O lone Platæan plain! O tossing waves of wild Eubœan sea!