To mark the battle-field of ages fled:
Still o’er such scenes presides a sacred power,
Though Fiction’s gods have fled from fountain, grot, and bower.
XXVII.
Oh! still unblamed may fancy fondly deem
That, lingering yet, benignant genii dwell
Where mortal worth has hallow’d grove or stream,
To sway the heart with some ennobling spell;
For mightiest minds have felt their blest control
In the wood’s murmur, in the zephyr’s sigh,