Lament, ye studious walks and shades,
The fall of Him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory—and mourn
Ilyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn,
For him who . . . . . .
Mourn, { sunny hills and groves } of Attica! and mourn
{ olive bowers }
Ilyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades,