VI.
By seas that flow in brightness as they lave
Thy rocks, th’ enthusiast rapt in thought may stray,
While roves his eye o’er that deserted wave,
Once the proud scene of battle’s dread array.
—O ye blue waters! ye, of old that bore
The free, the conquering, hymn’d by choral strains,
How sleep ye now around the silent shore,
The lonely realm of ruins and of chains!
How are the mighty vanish’d in their pride!
E’en as their barks have left no traces on your tide.