Classic Poem

XVI.

" Thou speak'st no mild relenting word!
So part we, I and thou,
To whom so oft in misery
Has bent my laurelled brow.
The gods that favor song and love
Will not be mocked in vain,
And higher they, proud Rock! than thou!
To them I lift my strain. "

XVII.

The minstrel turned his steps away,
And moved with hurrying feet,
Till past the slumberous gloom that filled
The lonely village street;
And through the vale beyond he fled,
And near the rocky shore,
And climbed the winding wooded path
That up the mountain bore.

XVIII.

The silent stars were gazing all,
The moon was up the sky,
And from below the tranquil sea
Sent measured sounds on high;
It broke beneath a steep ascent
Where Aphrodite's fane
Appeared a home of steadfast calm
For wanderers o'er the main.

XIX.

And thither bent the bard his course,
Until the rugged way
Subdued his desperate recklessness
To an abhorred delay;
And pausing, 'mid his haste, the thought
Of her he left behind
Brought tears into his burning eyes,
And checked his fiercer mind.

XX.

Yet soon he reached the terraced height,
The spot the Goddess chose,
Where channelled pillars round and strong
At equal spaces rose;
Above were graven tablets fair
With gaps of dark between,
And o'er the deep receding porch
Celestial forms were seen.