Page:Modern Greece.pdf/52

XCVIII.

Phidias! supreme in thought! what hand but thine,
In human works thus blending earth and heaven,
O'er nature's truth hath shed that grace divine,
To mortal form immortal grandeur given?
What soul but thine, infusing all its power,
In these last monuments of matchless days,
Could, from their ruins, bid young Genius tower,
And Hope aspire to more exalted praise?
And guide deep Thought to that secluded height,

Where Excellence is throned, in purity of light.

XCIX.

And who can tell how pure, how bright a flame,
Caught from these models, may illume the west?
What British Angelo may rise to fame,^43[1]
On the free isle what beams of art may rest?
Deem not, O England! that by climes confined,
Genius and taste diffuse a partial ray;^44[2]
Deem not th' eternal energies of mind
Sway'd by that sun whose doom is but decay!
Shall thought be foster'd but by skies serene?

No! thou hast power to be what Athens e'er hath been.