The fair Isabel of Cotehele a Cornish romance, in six cantos. By the author of Local attachment, and translator of Theocritus [i.e. Richard Polwhele] |
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 | The fair Isabel of Cotehele |  |
IV.
In strains attention's ear to hold,All of his voyage Erizey told—
Told, how an unexpected gale
Drove from its course the struggling sail;
Where, scatter'd round, each Grecian isle
Resum'd, erelong, a faery smile.
And “light (he said) how light the breeze
“In whispers kiss'd the deep-blue seas!
“And many a little fair caique
“Glided on the smooth expanse,
“Or waver'd in some shadowy creek;
“And all seem'd visions of romance!
“From every shore, as shrubby blooms
“Amidst the exuberant leaves
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“Was incense wafted o'er the waves!
“And, as I enter'd Chio's bay,
“Delicious was the closing day.
“Brilliant and vivid were the dyes
“Across the lovely Western skies—
“Above, a streak of crimson glow,
“And a long yellow line, below!
“And, the rich red and gold between,
“The tints so deepen'd into green,
“That one wide stripe of verdure soft
“Seem'd lifted like a lawn aloft!
“But landing. I full soon perceiv'd
“The fury passions were at work;
“And heard, as glimps'd the avenging Greek
“And fled the janissary Turk,
“The death-shot, and the dying shriek,
“E'en where ambrosial fruitage heav'd!
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“As up with dubious steps I wound,
“Sudden there came a rushing sound
“As of some bird that snuff'd her prey,
“And far off a low groan
“That pictur'd agony!
“Again, I caught the sufferer's moan
“That yet at distance seem'd to die!
“And, breaking thro' the twisted bowers
“O'er virid plants and matted flowers,
“Where the mulberry's silky flow
“And arbutus below,
“And almond's silver blossoms bright
“Wanton'd in the soft clear light,
“Long did I thro' the thicket creep,
“And panting climb from steep to steep,
“Ere, beneath a mastic's shade,
“In princely armour all array'd,
“I saw (in death I deem'd) a Greek!
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“Wings flapp'd, and did with carnage reek!
“And in a wound that open'd wide
“Plung'd often was a vulture-beak!
“Nor ceas'd the bird, tho' I drew near,
“Unsated, and as void of fear;
“Till, scarce by brandish'd sabre scar'd,
“'Mid the close shrubs she disappear'd.”
| The fair Isabel of Cotehele | |