Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Maeander’s amber waves
In lingering lab’rinths creep;
How do your tuneful echoes languish—
Mute, but to the voice of anguish?
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath’d around:
Ev’ry shade and hallowed fountain
Murmur’d deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine in Greece’s evil hour,