Beneath his eagle-glance, when love he whispered o’er.
XVI.
Full many a sweet, nor yet delusive tale
He told the maid of mingling heart and hand,
And home and household gods in sweetest vale
Amid the glories of his Motherland,
Of joys that glistened ’neath Hope’s faëry wand,
And life’s long course by Gnidian torches lighted,
Of foreheads pure by milder zephyrs fanned,
And England’s happier clime by war unblighted.