That scarce look desolate beneath such beams,
As bathe in gold thine ancient rocks and pines?
—When shall thy sons repose in peace beneath their vines?
CIII.
Thou wert not made for bonds, nor shame, nor fear!
—Do the hoar oaks and dark-green laurels wave
O’er Mantinea’s earth?—doth Pindus rear
His snows, the sunbeam and the storm to brave?
And is there yet on Marathon a grave?
And doth Eurotas lead his silvery line