XXIV.

On, on through rushing flame and arrowy shower, The welcome prows have cleft their rapid way; And, with the shadows of the vesper hour, Furl’d their white sails, and anchor’d in the bay. Then were the streets with song and torch-fire gay, Then the Greek wines flow’d mantling in the light Of festal halls; and there was joy!--the ray Of dying eyes, a moment wildly bright-- The sunset of the soul, ere lost to mortal sight.