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,[54]
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;[55]
Deem not the 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.