And from thy glorious domes and shrines of art,
No quickening impulse to her life was given.
From the deep shadow of thy cypress hills,
From the soft beauty of thy classic plains,
The noble-hearted, with, her treasures, turned
To the far land where Freedom proudly reigns.
After the rocking of long years of storms,
Her weary spirit looked and longed for rest;
Pictures of home, of loved and kindred forms,
Rose warm and life-like in her aching breast.