XXIV.
On, on thro' rushing flame, and arrowy shower,
The welcome prows have cleft their rapid way,
And, with the shadows of the vesper-hour,
Furl'd their white sails, and anchor'd in the bay.
Then were the streets with song and torch-fire gay,
Then the Greek wines flow'd mantling in the light
Of festal halls;—and there was joy!—the ray
Of dying eyes, a moment wildly bright,
XXV.
For, vain that feeble succour! Day by day
Th' imperial towers are crumbling, and the sweep
Of the vast engines, in their ceaseless play,
Comes powerful, as when Heaven unbinds the deep!
—Man's heart is mightier than the castled steep,
Yet will it sink when earthly hope is fled;
Man's thoughts work darkly in such hours, and sleep
Flies far; and in their mien, the walls who tread,
