Off Chios

Cleaving the sea-drift through the star-lit night,
We left the barren Patmian isle behind,
And veering northward, with a favoring wind,
Lay anigh Chios at the dawn of light.
The shore, the tree-set slopes, the rugged height,
Clear in the morning's roseate air outlined, —
This was his birthplace who, albeit blind,
Saw tall Troy's fall, and sang the tragic sight.

Resting within the roadstead while the day.
Grew into gradual glory, on the ear
Continuous broke the surge-song of the brine;
And as we marked it rise, or die away
To rise again, it seemed that we could hear
The swell and sweep of Homer's mighty line!