Written at the Piræus
What though I hear the Aegean billows roar,
And eye the deep where Persia's navy rode,
What have I left except my native shore?
What have I changed beyond my mere abode?
The fancied future, aspirations high
Which reason scarce could quell, the upbraiding shame
Of sloth mid busy crowds, the weak desire
Of that ideal feverish want, a name,
No longer tantalize the mental eye,
When nought gives food to such tormenting fire.
Yet still the mournful memory of the past,
Clouding my spirit, throws a deeper gloom
Than even befits the scene, a nation's tomb,
And that I feel through every clime must last.
What though I hear the Aegean billows roar,
And eye the deep where Persia's navy rode,
What have I left except my native shore?
What have I changed beyond my mere abode?
The fancied future, aspirations high
Which reason scarce could quell, the upbraiding shame
Of sloth mid busy crowds, the weak desire
Of that ideal feverish want, a name,
No longer tantalize the mental eye,
When nought gives food to such tormenting fire.
Yet still the mournful memory of the past,
Clouding my spirit, throws a deeper gloom
Than even befits the scene, a nation's tomb,
And that I feel through every clime must last.