Page images




Invocation—Scenery near Cocytus Acheron and the Acherusian Lake—AH
Pasha's Court—Apostrophe to the Natives of Suli conquered by Ali—To
Phrosyne, a beautiful Greek, murdered by Ali's orders—Ascent of Mount
Pindus—Formerly the Abode of the Muses—View from the Summit of
Pindus—Source of the River Peneus—Its Course through Thessaly—Vale
of Tempe—View of the Plains of Thessaly at Noon—Death of a Traveller
The Inhabitants of ancient Thessaly pre-eminent in Arts and Sciences—
Contrasted with the present abject Natives—Thermopylae and Leonidas—
Ascent of Mount (Eta—Night Scene of a Greek Village burnt by Robbers
—Parnassus and Delphi—The Abode of Poetry and Superstition—Sketch
of the ancient State of Delphi in Peace — Attack of Delphi by the
Persians—Journey by the Tomb of Laius, the Cave of Trophonius, and



Poetic Spirit! who on Delphi's rocks,

In silent caverns, nature's solemn fanes,

Delight'st to dwell; and, with a parent's care,

Lead est thy vot'ries to each cliff sublime,

Each flow'ry vale, and dreary solitude, 5

Till ev'ry heaving bosom swells with throbs

Of rapture, and each infant thought bursts forth

In song—from yonder oak, whose giant arms,

Scath'd by the storms of ages, shoot athwart

The torrent's foaming eddy, reach thy harp, 10

And though around its frame the ivy twines,


And the wild winds have rudely swept the strings

Erst touch'd by thee, yet O again once more

Recal its sacred melodies, and strike

Its dying echoes into harmony. 15

And thou, poetic Spirit, guard my steps
Whilst by each hallow'd stream, and peaceful grot,
And dark embower'd glen, thy favour'd haunts,
I wander; lead me to the awful groves,
Where lingers still the Genius of the place, 2,0
And with his shadowy finger dimly marks
The spot where sages taught, where poets sang,
Where heroes bled; direct mine eager gaze
To where the solitary temple rears

Its time-stain'd columns to the purple sky, 25
Majestic still, though desolate; then guide
Mine uninstructed hand across the chords,
And listen to the strains by thee inspir'd.

And hark, upon the mountain breezes float
The harp's soft sounds, not, as in times of old, 30
Swelling the lofty Paean, midst the throng
Of bards, and hoary sages; not, as erst,
Rolling its high and martial symphonies

In the deep tide of triumph and of joy
Before the march of warriors; but in notes
Broken, and full of grief, in accents sad,
As the first sobs of winter heard along
The leafless forest, with its muffled strings
It rings responsive to the widow's shriek,
Or captive's bitter groan of agony.

Ye then endow'd with Nature's fairest gifts,
Children of Taste and Fancy, in whose hearts
The flood of life beats quicker, when ye hear
The song of ancient times, th' immortal tale
Of bold heroic deeds, and firm resolve
And dauntless enterprise; whose kindling eyes
Flash indignation on the servile lays
Of minions crouching at a tyrant's throne,
But glow with transport at the deathless hymn
Rais'd to the godlike men, who bar'd their breasts,
And wing'd their bloody falchions in defence
Of sacred liberty: ye who can find
In ev'ry mould'ring stone, and moss-grown shaft,
A voice, whose eloquence can touch the heart
With more true sympathy than all the pomp

« PreviousContinue »