The child of beauty and of poesy,
And of soft Grecian skies—oh! who may dream
Of all that from her changeful eye flash’d forth,
Or glanced more quiveringly through starry tears,
As on her land’s rich vision, fane o’er fane
Colour’d with loving light, she gazed her last,
Her young life’s last, that hour! From her pale brow
And burning cheek she threw the ringlets back,
And bending forward, as the spirit sway’d
The reed-like form still to the shore beloved,