Sonnet Written At The Piraeus, 1820 Poem by Joanna Baillie

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.