The lowly plain; he seeks, like thee, steep rocks
By winter whitened, by the lightning riven;
Shores strewn with fragments of the fatal wreck,
Or fields all blackened with the gore of carnage:
And whilst the bird that plaintive sings its griefs
’Mid flow’rets, builds its nest on bank of streams,
Of Athos he the summits fearful scales,
Suspends his eyre o’er the abyss, and there,
Surrounded by still palpitating limbs,
By rocks with bloody banquets ever foul,