Sonnet Written At The Piraeus, 1820

WHAT though I hear th' Agæan billows roar, And eye the deep where Persia's navy rode, What have I left except my native shore? What have I chang'd beyond my mere abode? The fancied future, aspirations high Which reason scarce could quell, th' upbraiding shame Of sloth 'midst busy crowds, the weak desire Of that ideal fev'rish want, a name, No longer tantalize the mental eye, When nought gives food to such tormenting fire. Yet, still the mournful memory of the past, Clouding my spirit, throws a deeper gloom Than e'en befits the scene, a nation's tomb, And that I feel thro' ev'ry clime must last.