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While strangers only not regardless pass,
Still in his beam Mendeli’s marbles glare;
LXXXVIII. 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 crush'd thy temples gone: Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear
The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow;
The rifled urn, the violated mound,
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: But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, And scarce regret the region of his birth,
When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died.
Let such approach this consecrated land,
So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear’d, By every honest joy of love and life endear'd!
xCIV. For thee, who thus in too protracted song Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng Of louder minstrels in these later days: . To such resign the strife for fading bays-Ill may such contest now the spirit move Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise;
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, And none are left to please when none are left to love. xcv. Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me; Who did for me what none beside have done, Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. What is my being? thou hast ceased to be! Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see--
Would they had never been, or were to come! Would he had ne'er return’d to find fresh cause to roam!
And clings to thoughts now better far removed! (But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last.
All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou hast; The parent, friend, and now the more than friend: Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast,
And grief with grief continuing still to blend, Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend.
Smiles form the channel of a future tear,
XCVIII. What is the worst of woes that wait on ages? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now. Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd: Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow,
Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd.