"To the Temple of the Hours! Let us early pay the vow;
Aurora's bright and blushing kiss is on Hymettus' brow—
And the Hours, that lead the dapple morn thro' trembling rays of light,
Glance tow'rds the past eternity, with pinions stretch'd for flight.
"To the Temple of the Hours! Deeper grows the orient blush,
The light shafts of the polished Fane reflect the rosy flush;
While dews are on the cypress bough and blooming myrtle spray,
A sacrifice, as fresh and fair, we'll on their altar lay.
"With offering we'll propitiate—invoke with lyre and song—
And rich shall be the sacrifice—the music loud and long;
Then, Hours, as lightly over us you wing your noiseless flight,
Pour on our pathway, graciously, a flood of love and light."
Thus Athens' sons. How vainly wise!—The scathing foot hath trod,
Where many a costly Temple rose, to many an 'unknown God;'
And Hours, with retribution fraught, on pinions bathed in woes,
Long lingered where their beauteous Fane of tintless marble rose.
And have those retributive Hours passed o'er, with leaden flight?
On Athens breaks a brighter day? Dawns there a purer light?
Rejoice! The "Star of Bethlehem" leads on a perfect day,
And fades the Crescent from the skies, lost in its brighter ray.
The altar 'To the unknown God,' the Temple to the Hours,
'The Prophets' crescent-mounted Mosques, fail from her cypress bowers;
The Tissue from the Cross shall fall, by error wreathed so fair,
Fall—and the shrinking drapery's folds reveal a Saviour there.
Then, Greece, shall smile propitiously, the bright, the favoring Hours—
Then praise shall rise, as sweet as breath from Tempe's vale of Flowers;
Rise, from that heart of love—of woe—of poesy profound—
The heart of Greece!—her sons are free—the noble mind unbound. |