LXXXVIII.

Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon: Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

LXXXIX.

The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same;
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord—

Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame

The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde
First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,

As on the morn to distant Glory dear,

When Marathon became a magic word; (39)
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear

The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career,

XC.

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow;
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear;
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below;
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear!

Such was the scene-what now remaineth here?
What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground,
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear?
The rifled urn, the violated mound,

The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns around.

XCI.

Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng;
Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast,

Hail the bright clime of battle and of song;
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore;
Boast of the aged! lesson of the young!

Which

sages venerate and bards adore,

As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.

XCII.

The parted bosom clings to wonted home,

If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth;
He that is lonely hither let him roam,

And gaze complacent on congenial earth.
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth;
But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide,
And scarce regret the region of his birth,

When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side,

Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died.

XCIII.

Let such approach this consecrated land,

And

pass in peace along the magic waste:

But spare

its relics-let no busy hand

Deface the scenes, already how defaced!

Not for such purpose were these altars placed:

Revere the remnants nations once revered:

So may our country's name be undisgraced,

So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd,

By every honest joy of love and life endear'd!

XCIV.

For thee, who thus in too protracted song
Hast sooth'd thine idlesse with inglorious lays,
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng
Of louder minstrels in these later days:
To such resign the strife for fading bays-

Ill

may such contest now the spirit move Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise;

Since cold each kinder heart that might approve,

And none are left to please when none are left to love.

XCV.

Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one!
Whom youth and youth's affection bound to me;
Who did for me what none beside have done,

Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee.

What is my being? thou hast ceased to be!

Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home,

Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see

Would they had never been, or were to come!

Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to roam!

XCVI.

Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved!

How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,

And clings to thoughts now better far removed!
But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last.

All thou could'st have of mine, stern Death! thou hast ;
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend:
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast,

And grief with grief continuing still to blend,

Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend.

XCVII.

Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek ?
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud,
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,

To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak;
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer,
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique;
Smiles form the channel of a future tear,

Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer.