By sorrowing Affection; raise that stone,

And let the light of day, which saw entomb'd

The perfect corpse, stream on the crumbling heap
Of skulls and bones which even yet survive
The waste of centuries. Low, low they lie,
Each in his shroud of marble, each compos'd
With pious care by Friendship's trembling hand,
Who plac'd within their tombs these vases, rings,
And ornaments of gold, to sooth their shades
With unavailing pledges of her love.

Can we trace aught amidst the shapeless mass
Which lies before us? Can the brightest thought
Of Fancy give to these unmeaning lines

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Expression, clothe the wide-distended jaws
With smiles, and in the eyeless sockets place

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Their former brilliance? Where is the soft blush,

Spreading its deep suffusion o'er the cheek

Of Beauty? Where the warrior's scowl, that spoke
Delib'rate valour? Where th' indignant frown,
Which gath'ring on the orator's stern brow,
Made tyrants shrink? Where is the aspect mild
Of calm Philosophy, which beam'd around
The love of human kind? Where is the glance
Of the enraptur'd bard, when from the earth
It soar'd aloft, and wing'd its flight to Heav'n?
All vanish'd-Look on this, Ambition, weigh
The lesson well, which these Athenian tombs
Teach you; their tenants in the morn of youth
Hop'd to be known and honour'd to the end

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Of ages, strain'd for this their anxious thoughts,

415

And for the airy phantom were content

To toil and labour up the hill of life,

Smiling with pity and disdain on those

Who paus❜d below; and it is come to this-
That all their wishes, and their hopes and fears,

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And plans of daring enterprise, are shrunk
And dwindled to a few light grains of dust,
Without a stamp or lineament to mark
These sons of lofty purpose, from the herd

Of sordid baseness mould'ring at their side.

What scenes of horror met the view, how deep

Echoed the cries of mourning o'er the plain,

425

When Pestilence his arid footsteps press'd

Upon its bosom, blasting ev'ry flow'r

And tender blade! Rob'd in the dun-red clouds

430

Of the unhealthy south he came; his eyes,

Blood-shot, seem'd starting from his head, and roll'd
Painfully underneath his wrinkled brow;

His nostrils, close-compress'd, panted for life;

Foul ulcers blotch'd his skin; and o'er his breast

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His wither'd arm now drew a tatter'd robe,
Now dash'd it wildly from him with the glare
Of phrensy; on Anchesmus' rocky height

He sat, and blew from his convulsed lip

Disease and death. Th' affrighted mother view'd

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The hideous form, and closer to her breast

Her infant clasp'd; in vain-her infant fell
Dead from her void embrace; the mourning son,
Who follow'd to the tomb a father's corpse,
Dropp'd lifeless on the bier. Around each fount
The thirsty multitudes expiring lay,

445

Whilst ev'ry temple's porch resounded sad

With groans and sighs, and the faint struggling gasps
Of dying nature. E'en Affection shunn'd

The loathsome sight, nor felt the throbbing brow,
Nor watch'd the languid eye, nor wip'd away

The drops of fever'd anguish, but Despair

Sat sole companion of the sick man's bed.

Ye venerable woods of Academe,

450

Which wave your dark shades near Colonos' rock, 455 Me fainting with the noon-day's sultry heat

Receive into your bow'rs. I do not come

To break the silence of your solitudes
With Bacchanalian riot, tossing high

The frantic thyrsus, but I seek your groves,

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The votary of science, and of peace.

Let me recline where yonder olives spread

Their antique arms, emboss'd with moss-grown knots
O'er cool Cephissus' stream; let me repose

And listen to the shrill cicada's note,

And distant water's melancholy sound,

Falling at intervals upon the ear.

How solemn this unruffled breadth of shade,

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Like the wide ocean slumb'ring in a calm!
How graceful this umbrageous canopy

Dimly recedes into a lengthen'd aisle

Of mingling boughs! How firm each massive trunk
Props on the basement of its pillar'd strength
This sylvan temple! Here Philosophy

With Plato dwelt, and burst the chains of mind;
Here, with his stole across his shoulders flung,
His homely garments with a leathern zone
Confin'd, his snowy beard low clust'ring down
Upon his ample chest, his keen dark eye
Glancing from underneath the arched brow,
He fix'd his sandal'd foot, and on his staff
Lean'd, whilst to his disciples he declar'd
How all creation's mighty fabric rose
From the abyss of Chaos; next he trac'd

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The bounds of virtue and of vice; the source

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Of good and evil; sketch'd the ideal form

Of beauty, and unfolded all the pow'rs
Of mind by which it ranges uncontroll❜d,
And soars from earth to immortality.

Masters of ancient wisdom! who of old

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