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HE day is dawning. Whither shall we bend

Our steps, and whither send

The herald on before us; mighty clouds

That have been thick about the path of night,

Now parting all asunder, let the rays

Of mighty Pæan glance upon the hills,

And shew us here and there a marble tower,

With minarets that climb aloft, and gleam

Like silver crowns upon the hills of time.

Let us then climb these hill-tops, if with pain

And patient limbs we may attain thereto..

We then at last have come unto the brow,

And gloried with the rays of the young sun,

May look upon the valley underneath.

It is a plain far stretching to the sea,

Which rocks and tumbles on the distant shore,

While close beneath the hill on which we stand

There is a city shining like a bride,

Whose birth-place was in old Pentelicus.