Читать книгу Don Juan (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 323

The seventh day, and no wind—the burning sun

Blistered and scorched, and, stagnant on the sea,

They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,

Save in the breeze that came not: savagely

They glared upon each other—all was done,

Water, and wine, and food,—and you might see

The longings of the cannibal arise

(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.