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XIV
He felt his soul become more light
Beneath the freshness of the night.
Cool was the silent sky, though calm,
And bathed his brow with airy balm:
Behind, the camp — before him lay,
In many a winding creek and bay,
Lepanto`s gulf; and on the brow
Of Delphi`s hill, unshaken snow,
High and eternal, such as shone
Through thousand summers brightly gone.
Along the gulf, the mount, the clime;
It will not melt, like man, to time;
Tyrant and slave are swept away,
Less form`d to wear the before the ray;
But that white veil, the lightest, frailest,
Which on the mighty mount thou hailest,
Shines o`er its craggy battlement;
In form a peak, in height a cloud,
In texture like a hovering shroud,
Thus high by parting Freedom spread,
As from her fond abode she fled,
And linger`d on the spot, where long
Her prophet spirit spake in song.
Oh! still her step at moments falters
O`er wither`d fields, and ruined altars,
And fain would wake, in souls too broken,
By pointing to each glorious token.
But vain her voice, till better days
Dawn in those yet remember`d rays,
Which shone upon the Persian flying,
And saw the Spartan smile in dying.
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