XCVIII.
Phidias! supreme in thought! what hand but thine,
In human works thus blending earth and heaven,
O’er nature’s truth had spread that grace divine,
To mortal form immortal grandeur given?
What soul but thine, infusing all its power
In these last monuments of matchless days,
Could from their ruins bid young Genius tower,
And Hope aspire to more exalted praise;
And guide deep Thought to that secluded height
Where excellence is throned in purity of light?