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A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then,
O sacred Hellas! many weary years
He wandered, till the path of Laian’s glen 145

Was grass-grown–and the unremembered tears
Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief,
Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears:–

And as the lady looked with faithful grief
From her high lattice o’er the rugged path, 150
Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief

And blighting hope, who with the news of death
Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight,
She saw between the chestnuts, far beneath,

An old man toiling up, a weary wight; 155
And soon within her hospitable hall
She saw his white hairs glittering in the light

Of the wood fire, and round his shoulders fall;
And his wan visage and his withered mien,
Yet calm and gentle and majestical. 160

And Athanase, her child, who must have been
Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed
In patient silence.

FRAGMENT 2

 

 Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds
 

 One amaranth glittering on the path of frost,      165
 

 When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds,
 

Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed,
Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled
From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,

The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, 170
With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore
And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild.

And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,
The pupil and the master, shared; until,
Sharing that undiminishable store, 175

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill
Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
His teacher, and did teach with native skill

Strange truths and new to that experienced man;
Still they were friends, as few have ever been 180
Who mark the extremes of life’s discordant span.

So in the caverns of the forest green,
Or on the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen; and when winter’s roar 185
Sounded o’er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,
Then saw their lamp from Laian’s turret gleam,
Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star 190

Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam,
Whilst all the constellations of the sky
Seemed reeling through the storm…They did but seem–

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by,
And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, 195
And far o’er southern waves, immovably

Belted Orion hangs–warm light is flowing
From the young moon into the sunset’s chasm.–
‘O, summer eve! with power divine, bestowing