Page:Modern Greece.pdf/16

XXVI.

Or let his steps the rude grey cliffs explore
Of that wild pass, once dyed with Spartan blood,
When by the waves that break on Œta's shore,
The few, the fearless, the devoted, stood!
Or rove where, shadowing Mantinea's plain,
Bloom the wild laurels o'er the warlike dead,^10[1]
Or lone Platæa's ruins yet remain,
To mark the battle-field of ages fled;
Still o'er such scenes presides a sacred power,

Though Fiction's gods have fled from fountain, grot, and bower.

XXVII.

Oh! still unblamed may fancy fondly deem
That, lingering yet, benignant genii dwell,
Where mortal worth has hallow'd grove or stream,
To sway the heart with some ennobling spell;
For mightiest minds have felt their blest control,
In the wood's murmur, in the zephyr's sigh,
And these are dreams that lend a voice and soul,
And a high power, to Nature's majesty!
And who can rove o'er Grecian shores, nor feel,

Soft o'er his inmost heart, their secret magic steal?