ARION.
241
Again I must listen thy gentle tone,
And make its echo in music my own;
Again I must look on thy smile divine,
Again I must see the red flowers twine
Around my harp, enwreathed by thine hand,
And waken its chords at my love's command.—
I have dwelt in a distant but lovely place,
And worshipped many a radiant face;
And sipped the flowers from the purple wine,
But they were not so sweet as one kiss of thine.
I have wandered o'er land, I have wandered o'er sea,
But my heart has ne'er wandered, Eglæ, from thee.—
And, Greece, my own, my glorious land!
I will take no laurel but from thy hand.
What is the light of a poet's name,
If it is not his country that hallows his fame?
R
