summer gilds,
Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare:[fv]
Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
LXXXVIII.[194]
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 crushed thy temples gone:
Age shakes Athenae's tower, but spares gray Marathon.[195]
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[fw]
The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde
First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
As on the morn to distant Glory dear,
When Marathon became a magic word;[39.B.]
Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear[fx]
The camp, the host, the fight, the Conqueror's career,[fy]
XC.
The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow--[fz][196]
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 hallowed ground,
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear?[ga]
The rifled urn, the violated mound,[197]
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns around.
XCI.
Yet to the remnants of thy Splendour past[gb]
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng;
Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast,[198]
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:
Bu
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