In the light leapings of the silver spray?
Vainly did even and her fairer sister
Pour all their glories on his sightless eye,
Long had he ceased to mark the sun’s hot splendor,
The wave’s fleet sparkle and the cloud’s rich dye.
Low on his shriveled palms he bows his forehead,
With beard white waving round his loosened zone,
While strains majestic from the ocean’s bosom
Spake to the mightier stirring in his own.
The towers of Illion, and the Argive ramparts,