And bids the soul drink deep of wisdom there, In fond devotion, and in fervent prayer, In speechless awe the wonder-stricken throng Check their rude feasting and their barbarous song: Around his steps the gathering myriads crowd, Where shall your temples, where your worship be, Gods of the air, and Rulers of the sea? In the glad dawning of a kinder light, Beautiful Land, farewell!-when toil and strife And all the sighs, and all the sins of life, Shall come about me, when the light of Truth Shall scatter the bright mists that dazzled youth, And Memory muse in sadness on the past, And mourn for pleasure far too sweet to last; How often shall I long for some green spot, Where, not remembering, and remembered not, With no false verse to deck my lying bust, With no fond tear to vex my mould'ring dust, This busy brain may find its grassy shrine, And sleep untroubled in a shade like thine! ATHENS.* "High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters, MUSE of old ATHENS! strike thine ancient lute! And reft the roses passion worshipped there, Bear me, oh, bear me, to the vine-clad hill, Where Nature smiles, and Beauty blushes still, And Memory blends her tale of other years With earnest hopes, deep sighs, and bitter tears! *This Poem obtained the Chancellor's Medal at the Cambridge Commencement, July, 1824. Desolate Athens! though thy gods are fled, Thy temples silent, and thy glory dead, Though all thou hadst of beautiful and brave Sleep in the tomb, or moulder in the wave, Though power and praise forsake thee and forget, Desolate Athens, thou art lovely yet! Around thy walls, in every wood and vale, Flings its soft magic over brake and bower, Still thine own olive haunts its native earth, And laughing Venus o'er the level plains Waves her light lash, and shakes her gilded reins. How terrible is Time! his solemn years, The tombs of all our hopes and all our fears, In silent horror roll!-the gorgeous throne, The pillared arch, the monumental stone, Melt in swift ruin; and of mighty climes, Where Fame told tales of virtues and of crimes, Where Wisdom taught, and Valour woke to strife, And Art's creations breathed their mimic life, And the young Poet, when the stars shone high, Drank the deep rapture of the quiet sky, Naught now remains, but Nature's placid scene, Heaven's deathless blue, and Earth's eternal green, The showers that fall on palaces and graves, Breathes in the dome, and wanders in the dell, And vanished times and wondrous forms appear, And every breeze to fancy's slumber brings E'en now, methinks, before the eye of day, The night of ages rolls its mist away, And the cold dead, the wise, and fair, and proud, Start from the urn, and rend the tranquil shroud. Here the wild Muse hath seized her maddening lyre, With grasp of passion, and with glance of fire, And called the visions of her awful reign From death and gloom, to light and life again. Hark! the huge Titan on his frozen rock Scoffs at Heaven's King, and braves the lightningshock, The Colchian sorceress drains her last brief bliss, And the gay Theban raises to the skies |