Silent and feared by all:  not oft he talks
   With aught beneath him, if he would preserve
   That strict restraint, which broken, ever baulks
   Conquest and Fame:  but Britons rarely swerve
From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve.

XX.

   Blow, swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale,
   Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;
   Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
   That lagging barks may make their lazy way. 
   Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay,
   To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze! 
   What leagues are lost before the dawn of day,
   Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas,
The flapping sails hauled down to halt for logs like these!

XXI.

   The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! 
   Long streams of light o’er dancing waves expand! 
   Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe: 
   Such be our fate when we return to land! 
   Meantime some rude Arion’s restless hand
   Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love: 
   A circle there of merry listeners stand,
   Or to some well-known measure featly move,
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.

XXII.

   Through Calpe’s straits survey the steepy shore;
   Europe and Afric, on each other gaze! 
   Lands of the dark-eyed maid and dusky Moor,
   Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate’s blaze: 
   How softly on the Spanish shore she plays,
   Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown,
   Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase: 
   But Mauritania’s giant-shadows frown,
From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down.

XXIII.

   ’Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel
   We once have loved, though love is at an end: 
   The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
   Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. 
   Who with the weight of years would wish to bend,
   When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy? 
   Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend,
   Death hath but little left him to destroy! 
Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

XXIV.

   Thus bending o’er the vessel’s laving side,
   To gaze on Dian’s wave-reflected sphere,
   The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride,
   And flies unconscious o’er each backward year. 
   None are so desolate but something dear,
   Dearer than self, possesses or possessed
   A thought, and claims the homage of a tear;
   A flashing pang! of which the weary breast
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.