56. Corcyra
|
{109}
I SAT beneath an olive's branches grey, |
| And gazed upon the sight of a lost town, |
| By sage and poet raised to long renown; |
| Where dwelt a race that on the sea held sway, |
| And, restless as its waters, forced a way |
| For civil strife a hundred states to drown. |
| That multitudinous stream we now note down |
| As though one life, in birth and in decay. |
| But is their being's history spent and run, |
| Whose spirits live in awful singleness, |
| Each in its self-form'd sphere of light or gloom? |
Henceforth, while pondering the fierce deeds then
done, |
| Such reverence on me shall its seal impress |
| As though I corpses saw, and walk'd the tomb. |
At Sea.
January 7, 1833. |