The marble monument' uprais'd proclaims
The Poet's triumph; in that open shed,
Skreen'd by a broad projecting eave of reeds,
And by the fragrant orange-tree perfum'd,
Purple and red-rob'd Turks reclining gaze
On vacancy, or o'er the chequer'd board
Bend fix'd in silent dulness. In yon court,
Where a tall palm-tree shades a murmʼring fount,
The airy forms of Grecian females glide
Across the gloom of the long corridor.
There half-conceal'd by walls and mossy tiles,
And crumbling roofs, the Doric portal rears
Its useless grandeur; from yon minaret,
Sounds floating through the tranquil plains of air, 570
In soft melodious cadencies proclaim
The hour of worship; whilst the close bazar
Resounds with thronging traffic's busy hum.
Surmount with toilsome step the steep ascent
Of the Acropolis; view on the right,
Below you, at its base, the hill of Mars,
Far-fam'd; there sad Orestes, driv'n
▾ Choragic monument of Lysicrates.
By the avenging Furies, suppliant kneel'd
Before the dread tribunal; thence the host
Of Persia scal'd the citadel; there stood
Collected in himself the holy Paul,
And stretch'd his hands to Heav'n; whilst all around,
The gather'd group, from Epicurus' school,
And Zeno's porch, and Academus' grove,
Hanging in silence on the sacred sounds,
Confess'd his eloquence. Above your head
Behold the cave of Pan, scene of the loves
Of Phoebus and Crëusa; pause to cast
A mournful glance upon the shatter'd range
Of marble capitals, and shafts and walls
Which grac'd the Propylæa; till at length
You rest beneath the ruin'd Parthenon.
Majestic still, though Desolation's hand
Has rock'd it to its base, and scatter'd wide
Its shapeless fragments, it o'erawes the soul
With sacred dread. The heart of Fancy beats
With quicker pulses, as she strays along
The moss-grown porticos; where the coil'd snake
Hisses amidst the knotted grass, where basks
The lizard on the column, where the snail
Draws its thick slime across the breathing forms
Of heroes and of Gods, she bends to hear
The step of warlike men, the brazen ring
Of spear and buckler, or the peaceful hymn
Now faint, now swelling, as the solemn train
Winds up the cave-worn rock. Beneath these stones,
Nodding with ev'ry breeze that whispers by,
Sits Time, rejoicing in Destruction's deeds,
His dark cheek resting on his hand, to mark
Th' appointed moment when the mould'ring fane
Shall crumble into dust. Vain were his watch,
Did not the bolts of war, and cruel rage
Of spoilers urge its fall. Still it survives,
Ruin'd, but in its ruin beautiful ;
Full on its western front the level ray
Gleams broad, and bathes its form in floods of gold,
Till ev'ry vein that streaks its marble walls,
And ev'ry tint that Age's hand has spread,
And ev'ry flow'r that o'er its triglyphs waves,
Glows with a liquid light. The columns stand,
Fix'd by the weight of their incumbent mass,
Now glitt'ring to the sun, now throwing far
Their umber'd shades; the pond'rous architrave
Leans on its capital; the metopés
Start into ambient air, and breathe with life.
Fall back with white upturned wond'ring eyes
To gaze upon the sculptur'd frize; the long
Procession moves—light female forms array'd
In stole and modest peplus bear the load
Of sacred urns and torches; fir'd with rage
The bull glares wildly by; with bended knees,
And firm projected arms, the struggling boy
Draws the tight cord; till to the altar dragg'd,
It backward bends its dewlapp'd throat, to meet
The blow. There youths and warlike bands are seen-
Some grasp the ringing buckler; some bind on
The martial greave; some guide the dusty car;
Or seated graceful on their snowy steeds,
Whose eye-balls flash and nostrils snort with fire,
They press the foaming curb, and give their vests
To stream in careless folds upon the wind.
8 The white upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze.
Night closes silently—the falling dews
Show'r fragrance, and the air which lately glow'd
With sultry fervour, now breathes balm and soft.
All is serene-the clouds no longer roll'd
In golden billows round the throne of eve
Spread their transparent mantles o'er the sky,
Gemm'd with unnumber'd stars. The deep'ning shades
Roll o'er the temple, and its clust'ring shafts
Print their dark outlines on the silver tide
Of moonlight streaming o'er the gray expanse ;
Whilst all the living pride and solemn pomp
Of sculpture fades in gloom. A few short hours
Will pass, and day-light will restore its form,
And yield its beauties to the eye again,
But O unhappy Athens! what new day
Shall burst the night of thy calamity?
Fall'n as thou art, and sunk beneath a load
Of infamy, thy garments rent, thine arm
Gall❜d with corroding chains, thy martial shield
Crush'd at thy feet, thy books of wisdom torn
And scatter'd to the winds, thy limbs enchain'd,
And trampled on by ev'ry passing slave,
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