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Lo, we have many kinds of incense here
To offer thee, and sunny wine and clear,
Fit for young BACCHUS: flowers we have here too,
That we have gather'd when the morning dew
Was moist upon them; myrtle wreaths we bear,
To place upon thy bright, luxuriant hair,
And shade thy temples too; 'tis now the time
Of all fair beauty: thou who lovest the clime
Of our dear Cyprus, where sweet flowers blow
With honey in their cups, and with a glow
Like thine own cheek, raising their modest heads
To be refresh'd with the transparent beads
Of silver dew: behold, this April night.
Our altars burn for thee; lo, on the light
We pour out incense from each golden vase;
O, goddess, hear our words!

And hither turn, with thine own matchless grace,
Thy white-wing'd birds.

THE PARTHENON.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

FAIR Parthenon! yet still must fancy weep
For thee, thou work of nobler spirits flown,
Bright as of old, the sunbeams o'er thee sleep
In all their beauty still-and thine is gone!

Empires have sunk since thou wert first revered,

And varying rites have sanctified thy shrine. The dust is round thee of the race that reared Thy walls; and thou-their fate must soon be thine!

But when shall earth again exult to see

Visions divine, like theirs, renewed in ought like thee?

Lone are thy pillows now-each passing gale Sighs o'er them as a spirit's voice, which moaned That loneliness, and told the plaintive tale

Of the bright synod once above them throned. Mourn, graceful ruin! on thy sacred hill.

Thy gods, thy rites, a kindred fate have shared: Yet thou art honoured in each fragment still That wasting years and barbarous hands had spared;

Each hallowed stone, from rapine's fury borne, Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn.

Yes; in these fragments, though by time defaced, And rude insensate conquerors, yet remains All that may charm the enlightened eye of taste, On shores where still inspiring freedom reigns. As vital fragrance breathes from every part

Of the crushed myrtle, or the bruised rose,

E'en thus the essential energy of Art

There in each wreck imperishably glows! The soul of Athens lives in every line, Pervading brightly still the ruins of her shrine.

Mark on the storied frieze the graceful train,
The holy festival's triumphal throng,
In fair procession, to Minerva's fane,

With many a sacted symbol, move along.
There every shade of bright existence trace,
The fire of youth, the dignity of age;
The matron's calm austerity of grace,

The ardent warrior, the benignant sage;

The nymph's light symmetry, the chief's proud mien ;

Each ray of beauty caught and mingled in the scene.

Art, unobtrusive, there ennobles form;

Each pure chaste outline exquisitely flows; There, e'en the steed, with bold expression warm, Is clothed with majesty, with being glows. One mighty mind hath harmonized the whole; These varied groups the same bright impress bear;

One beam and essence of exalting soul

Lives in the grand, the delicate, and fair; And well that pageant of the glorious dead

Blends us with nobler days, and loftier spirits fled.

O, conquering Genius! that couldst thus retain
The subtle graces, fading as they rise,
Eternalize expression's fleeting reign,
Arrest warm life in all its energies,
And fix them on the stone-thy glorious lot
Might wake ambition's envy, and create
Powers half divine: while nations are forgot,
A thought, a dream of thine, hath vanquished
fate!

And when thy hand first gave its wonders birth, The realms that hail them now, scarce claimed a name on earth.

Wert thou some spirit of a purer sphere

But once beheld, and never to return? No-we may hail again thy bright career, Again on earth a kindred fire shall burn! Though thy least relics, e'en in ruin, bear A stamp of heaven that ne'er hath been renewed

A light inherent-let not man despair;

Still be hope ardent, patience unsubdued; For still is nature fair, and thought divine,

And art hath won a world in models pure as thine.

Gaze on yon forms, corroded and defaced-
Yet there the germ of future glory lies!
Their virtual grandeurs could not be erased;
It clothes them still, though veiled from com-
mon eyes.

They once were gods and heroes-and beheld
As the blest guardians of their native scene;
And hearts of warriors, sages, bards, have swelled
With awe that owned their sovereignty of
mien.

Ages have vanished since those hearts were cold. And still those shattered forms retain their godlike mould.

'Midst their bright kindred, from their marble throne,

They have looked down on thousand storms of time. Surviving power, and fame, and freedom flown, They still remained, still tranquilly sublime! Till mortal hands the heaven conclave marred. The Olympian groups have sunk, and are forgot; Not e'en their dust could weeping Athens guardBut these were destined to a nobler lot! And they have borne, to light another land, The quenchless ray that soon shall gloriously expand.

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?

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