Speak to ears that hear.

Wilt thou not heed?

I have heard from thee too much.

Fear, my lord, makes me speak.

Quick, close the doors.

Yield, I implore thee.

Fond simplicity

If at this hour thou think’st to mould my mood.

Ah Salamis, blest isle,

Secure, serene,

Above the waves that lash thy shore,

As ocean’s queen,

Thou sittest evermore.

But I in exile drear,

Month after month, year after year,

On Ida’s meads must bivouac, all forlorn

By time outworn;

And ever nearer, ever darker loom

The night of Hades and eternal gloom.