ATHENS.
She sits in glory on her eyrie high,
Far seen, the Pharos of antiquity;
And, through the dusky-woven veil of time,
She vents her sun-bright shafts, that pierce and shine
Like lightning, from the golden quivers drawn
Of high philosophy and Sophoclean song.
Around her feet in lucid currents wind
Two streams, through marble-paven channels, lined
By temples pillar-propt, whose snowy sheen
Glistens like silver through the olive’s green.