Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/161

Rh

Yet though luxurious they repose Beneath Corinthian porticoes, While round them into being start, The marvels of triumphant art; Oh! not for them hath genius given To Parian stone the fire of heaven, Enshrining in the forms he wrought A bright eternity of thought. In vain the natives of the skies In breathing marble round them rise, And sculptured nymphs, of fount or glade, People the dark-green laurel shade; Cold are the conqueror's heart and eye To visions of divinity; And rude his hand which dares deface The models of immortal grace.

Arouse ye from your soft delights! Chieftains! the war-note's call invites; And other lands must yet be won, And other deeds of havoc done. Warriors! your flowery bondage break, Sons of the stormy north, awake!