Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/31

Rh Cruel Leucadia! and ye winds that sweep Round every Grecian isle, and hallow'd steep! Why mourn'd ye not, when injur'd beauty gave Her glory, and her genius to the wave; Why heard unmov'd the immortal notes expire, The burning breath of love, the ætherial song of fire! Each mystic spring that feeds the Aonian well Is ours—the music of Cyrene's shell; Or that, the later lay thou lov'st, that told Of those brave kings, and of the fleece of gold, Their prows to Phasis turn'd, ploughing the Euxine old. Gazing the wondrous barque,—the Centaur band Shake their huge manes, and stamp the oozy strand; Loud conchs are sounding from each mountain cave, And through the glittering woods barbaric lances wave. Or if the Dorian reed delight thine ear, The shadowy vales, and wild birds warbling near. The sparkling streams that down their channel shine, The murmur of the bee, the whispering pine, And sun-gilt cliffs purpled with many a vine, Sweet violet banks beside the silver wave, And fountains flashing from their rocky cave. While satyr-forms, and sounds of sylvan feet Pass by, and nymphs flying with sandals fleet.

Leave Phasidamus, and the stream that shines Of old Anapus, and the murmuring pines!