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MODERN GREECE.
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IV.

Is not his mind, to meaner thoughts unknown,
A sanctuary of beauty and of light?
There he may dwell, in regions all his own,
A world of dreams, where all is pure and bright.
For him the scenes of old renown possess
Romantic charms, all veil'd from other eyes;
There every form of nature's loveliness
Wakes in his breast a thousand sympathies;
As music's voice, in some lone mountain-dell,

From rocks and caves around calls forth each echo's swell.


V.

For him Italia's brilliant skies illume
The bard's lone haunts, the warrior's combat-plains,
And the wild-rose yet lives to breathe and bloom,
Round Doric Pæstum's solitary fanes.1
But most, fair Greece! on thy majestic shore,
He feels the fervors of his spirit rise;
Thou birth-place of the Muse! whose voice, of yore,
Breathed in thy groves immortal harmonies;
And lingers still around the well-known coast,

Murmuring a wild farewell to fame and freedom lost.

B 2

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