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As in that realm, where each faint breeze's moan, Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone; Where 'midst the ruin'd shrines of many a vale, E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale, And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends, But its proud name with song eternal blends!

Yes! in those scenes, where every ancient stream, Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme; Where every marble deeds of fame records, Each ruin tells of Earth’s departed lords; And the deep tones of inspiration swell, From each wild Olive-wood, and Alpine dell; Where heroes slumber, on their battle plains, 'Midst prostrate altars, and deserted fanes, And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot, With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot;