Στὸ Γυαλὶ στὸ γαλἄζιο βρἄχο
Island in blue of summer floating on,
Little brave sister of the Sporades,
Hail and farewell! I pass, and thou art gone,
So fast in fire the great boat beats the seas.
But slowly fade, soft Island! Ah to know
Thy town and who the gossips of thy town,
What flowers flash in thy meadows, what winds blow
Across thy mountain when the sun goes down.
There is thy market, where the fisher throws
His gleaming fish that gasp in the death-bright dawn:
And there thy Prince's house, painted old rose,
Beyond the olives, crowns its slope of lawn.
And is thy Prince so rich that he displays
At festal board the flesh of sheep and kine?
Or dare he--summer days are long hot days--
Load up with Asian snow his Coan wine?
Behind a rock, thy harbour, whence a noise
Of tarry sponge-boats hammered lustily:
And from that little rock thy naked boys
Like burning arrows shower upon the sea.
And there by the old Greek chapel--there beneath
A thousand poppies that each sea-wind stirs
And cyclamen, as honied and white as death,
Dwell deep in earth the elder islanders.
***
Thy name I know not, Island, but _his_ name
I know, and why so proud thy mountain stands,
And what thy happy secret, and Who came
Drawing his painted galley up thy sands.
For my Gods--Trident Gods who deep and pale
Swim in the Latmian Sound, have murmured thus:
"To such an island came with a pompous sail
On his first voyage young Herodotus."
Since then--tell me no tale how Romans built,
Saracens plundered--or that bearded lords
Rowed by to fight for Venice, and here spilt
Their blood across the bay that keeps their swords.
That old Greek day was all thy history:
For that did Ocean poise thee as a flower.
Farewell: this boat attends not such as thee:
Farewell: I was thy lover for an hour!
Farewell! But I who call upon thy caves
Am far like thee,--like thee, unknown and poor.
And yet my words are music as thy waves,
And like thy rocks shall down through time endure.