Through thy fair vales his fancy roves the while,
Or breathes the freshness of Cithæron’s height,
Or dreams how softly Athens’ towers would smile,
Or Sunium’s ruins, in the fading light;
On Corinth’s cliff what sunset hues may sleep,
Or, at that placid hour, how calm th’ Ægean deep!
XX.
What scenes, what sunbeams, are to him like thine?
(The all of thine no tyrant could destroy!)
E’en to the stranger’s roving eye, they shine