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But ere he sunk beneath Cithæron's head,
of wo was quaff’d-the spirit fled; The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or Ay, Who liv'd and died as none can live or die.
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain The Queen of Night asserts her silent reign;* No murky vapour, berald of the storm, Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form: With cornice glimmering as the moon beams playThere the white column greets her grateful ray, And bright around with quivering beams beset, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret. The groves of olive, scatter'd dark and wide, Where meek Cephisus pours bis scanty tide, The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque; The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,t And sad and sombre ʼmid the holy calm, Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm; All ting'd with varied hues arrest the eye, And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war? Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle That frown where gentler ocean deigns to smile.
As thus within the walls of Pattas' fane
* The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country. The days in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration.
† The kiosk is a Turkish suinmer-house--the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes-Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and 1Vissus has no stream at all.
Alone and friendless on the magic shore,
Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high
Long had I mused and treasured every trace The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, When lo!-a giant-form before me strode, And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode. Yes--twas Minerva's self—but ah! how changed Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged! Not such as erst by her divine command, Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand. Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, Her idle ægis bore no Gorgod now; Her helm was deep indented, and her lance
Seem'd weak and shaftless e'en to mortal glance: • The olive branch, which still she deign’d to clasp,
Shrunk from her hand and withered in her grasp.
And ab! though still the brightest of the sky,
“Mortal!" ('twas thus she spoke)" that blush of shame
* It is related by a late oriental traveller that when the wholesale spoliator visited Athens, he caused his own name, with that of his wife, to be inscribed on a pillar of one of the principal temples: this inscription was executed in a very conspicuous manner, and deeply engraved in the marble, at a very considerable elevation. Notwithstanding which precautions, some person (doubtless inspired by the patron-goddess) has been at the pains to get
himself raised up to the requisite height, and has obliterated the name of the laird, but left that of the lady untouched. The traveller in question accompanied this story by a remark, that it must have cost some labour and contrivance to get at the place, and could only have been eifected by much zeal and determination,
Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make their own,
She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, To sooth the vengeance kindling in her eye:
Daughter of Jove! in Britain's injured name, A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. Frown pot on England-England owns him not:Athena! 00- -the plunderer was a Scott Ask'st thou the difference? from fair Phile's towers Survey Baotia:--Caledonia's ours
" And well I know within that murky land Hath Wisdom's goddess never held command; A barren soil, where nature's germs confin'd To stern sterility cap stint the mind; Where thistle well betrays the niggard earth, Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth; Each genial influence nurtured to resist A land of liars, moutebanks and mist, Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain, Till burst at length, each wat’ry bead o'erflows, Foul as their soil and frigid as their snows;
* The portrait of sir WW. D'Avenant illustrates this line.
+ The plaster wall on the west side of the temple of Minerva-polias bears the following inscription, cut in very deep characters:
" Quod non fecerunt Goli,
Hob house's Travels in Greece, &c. p. 345.
Ten thousand schemes of petulance and pride
“Mortal! (the blue-eyed maid resumed once more) Bear back my mandate to thy native shore; To turn my counsels far from lands like thine,
Though fallen, alas! this vengeance yet is mine;
*“Nor will this conduct (tlie sacrilegious plunder of ancient edifices] appear wonderful in'men, either by birth, or by habits and grovelling passions, barbarians, (i.e. Goths) when in our own times, and almost before our own eyes, persons of rank and education have not hesitated to disfigure the most ancient and the most venerable monuments of Grecian architec ture; to tear the works of Phidias and Praxiteles from their original posia tion, and demolish fabrics, which time, war, and barbarism, had respected during twenty centuries. The French, whose rapacity the voice of