CANTO II. q3

These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne —Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn,

To trace again those fields of yore, 5i5Relieving every hillock green

Contains no fabled hero’s ashes,

And that around the undoubted scene

Thine own «broad Hellespont " 23 still dashes,Be long my lot! and cold were he 5aoWho there could gaze denying thee!

TV.

The night hath closed on llellc’s stream,Nor yet hath risen on Ida’s hillThat moon , w hich shone on his high theme :flo warrior chides her peaceful hcam, 5a5But conscious shepherds bless it still.Their fio cks are grazing on the moundOf him who felt the Dardan’s arrow:

That mighty heap of gathered groundWhich Ammon’s ^son ran proudly round, 53oBy nations raised, by monarebs crowned.

Is now a lone and nameless barrow!Within— thy dwelling-place how narrow!Without — can only strangers breatheThe name of him that was beneath : 535

Oust long outlasts the storied stone;

But Thou — thy very dust is gone!