Fair Parthenon! thy Doric pillars rise
In simple dignity, thy marble's hue

Unsullied shines, relieved by brilliant skies,
That round thee spread their deep ethereal bl
And Art o'er all thy light proportions throws
The harmony of grace, the beauty of repose.

And lovely o'er thee sleeps the sunny glow, When morn and eve in tranquil splendour reign, And on thy sculptures, as they smile, bestow Hues that the pencil emulates in vain. Then the fair forms, by Phidias wrought, unfold Each latent grace, developing in light; Catch from soft clouds of purple and of gold Each tint that passes, tremulously bright; And seem, indeed, whate'er devotion deems, While so suffused with heaven, so mingling with its beams.

But oh! what words the vision may portray,
The form of sanctitude that guards thy shrine ?
There stands thy Goddess, robed in war's array,
Supremely glorious, awfully divine!

With spear and helm she stands, and flowing vest,
And sculptured ægis, to perfection wrought;
And on each heavenly lineament imprest,
Calmly sublime, the majesty of thought—
The pure intelligence, the chaste repose-
All that a poet's dream around Minerva throws.

Bright age of Pericles! let Fancy still

Through time's deep shadows all thy splendour trace, And in each work of Art's consummate skill

Hail the free spirit of thy lofty race:

That spirit, roused by every proud reward
That hope could picture, glory could bestow,
Foster'd by all the sculptor and the bard
Could give of immortality below.

Thus were thy heroes form'd, and o'er their name
Thus did thy genius shed imperishable fame.

Fall'n are thy fabrics, that so oft have rung
To choral melodies and tragic lore:
Now is the lyre of Sophocles unstrung,
The song that hail'd Harmodius peals no more.
Thy proud Piræus is a desert strand,

Thy stately shrines are mouldering on their hill,
Closed are the triumphs of the sculptor's hand,
The magic voice of eloquence is still;
Minerva's veil is rent-her image gone;

Silent the sage's bower, the warrior's tomb o'erthrown.

Yet in decay thine exquisite remains
Wondering we view, and silently revere,
As traces left on earth's forsaken plains
By vanish'd beings of a nobler sphere!
Not all the old magnificence of Rome,
All that dominion there hath left to time-
Proud Coliseum, or commanding dome,
Triumphal arch, or obelisk sublime,

Can bid such reverence o'er the spirit steal,

As aught by thee imprest with beauty's plastic seal.

Though still the empress of the sunburnt waste,
Palmyra rises, desolately grand—

Though with rich gold and massy sculpture graced,
Commanding still, Persepolis may stand

In haughty solitude-though sacred Nile
The first-born temples of the world surveys,
And many an awful and stupendous pile
Thebes of the hundred gates e'en yet displays:
City of Pericles! oh, who, like thee,

Can teach how fair the works of mortal hand

may be?

Thou ledst the way to that illumined sphere

Where sovereign beauty dwells; and thence didst bear,

Oh, still triumphant in that high career!

Bright archetypes of all the grand and fair :
And still to thee the enlighten'd mind hath flown
As to her country-thou hast been to earth
A cynosure and e'en from victory's throne,
Imperial Rome gave homage to thy worth;
And nations, rising to their fame afar,
Still to thy model turn, as seamen to their star.

Glory to those whose relics thus arrest

The gaze of ages! glory to the free!

For they, they only, could have thus imprest Their mighty image on the years to be! Empires and cities in oblivion lie, Grandeur may vanish, conquest be forgotTo leave on earth renown that cannot die, Of high-soul'd genius is the unrivall❜d lot. Honour to thee, O Athens! thou hast shown What mortals may attain, and seized the palm alone. Modern Greece.

MASTER-PIECES OF HELLENIC SCULPTURE.

THERE thou, fair offspring of immortal Mind!
Love's radiant goddess, idol of mankind!*
Once the bright object of Devotion's vow,
Shalt claim from taste a kindred worship now.
Oh! who can tell what beams of heavenly light
Flash'd o'er the sculptor's intellectual sight,
How many a glimpse, reveal'd to him alone,
Made brighter beings, nobler worlds, his own;
Ere, like some vision sent the earth to bless,
Burst into life thy pomp of loveliness!

Bright with stern beauty, breathing wrathful fire,
In all the grandeur of celestial ire,

Once more thine own, the immortal Archer's form
Sheds radiance round, with more than Being warm!
Oh! who could view, nor deem that perfect frame
A living temple of ethereal flame?

Lord of the day-star! how may words portray

Of thy chaste glory one reflected ray!

Whate'er the soul could dream, the hand could trace,

Of regal dignity and heavenly grace;

Each purer effluence of the fair and bright,
Whose fitful beams have broke on mortal sight:

Each bold idea, borrow'd from the sky,
To vest the embodied form of Deity;

All, all in thee, ennobled and refined,

Breathe and enchant, transcendently combined!

The Statue that enchants the world,'-the Venus di Medici at Florence. See Byron's description below.

Son of Elysium! years and ages gone

Have bow'd in speechless homage at thy throne,
And days unborn, and nations yet to be,
Shall gaze, absorb'd in ecstasy, on thee!

And thou, triumphant wreck,* e'en yet sublime,
Disputed trophy, claim'd by Art and Time:
Hail to that scene again, where Genius caught
From thee its fervours of diviner thought!
Where He, the inspired One, whose gigantic mind
Lived in some sphere to him alone assign'd;
Who from the past, the future, and the unseen,
Could call up forms of more than earthly mien :
Unrivall'd Angelo on thee would gaze,

Till his full soul imbibed perfection's blaze!
And who but he, that Prince of Art, might dare
Thy sovereign greatness view without despair?
Emblem of Rome! from power's meridian hurl'd,
Yet claiming still the homage of the world!

And mark yon group, transfix'd with many a throe,
Seal'd with the image of eternal woe:
With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest,
Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonise the breast,
And the stern combat, picture to mankind
Of suffering nature and enduring mind.
Oh, mighty conflict! though his pains intense
Distend each nerve, and dart through every sense;
Though fix'd on him, his children's suppliant eyes
Implore the aid avenging Fate denies:

Though with the giant-snake in fruitless strife,
Heaves every muscle with convulsive life,
And in each limb existence writhes, enroll'd
Midst the dread circles of the venom'd fold;
*The Belvidere Torso.