And thence, with prescient eye, he gazes far
O’er the rude sites of palaces and shrines,
Where Grecian beauty to the buxom air
Shall rise resplendent in its shapely lines;
Ay, almost hears the future pavements jar
Beneath a people’s wealth, and half divines
From thee, Soul-Liberty! what glories wait
Thy earliest altars—thy predestined State.
XXXVIII.