Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/42

xxvi Gaz'd on each marble shrine, each sacred fane, Fresh rising (thus it seem'd), and that lov'd plain, Where Athens saw her own Minerva reign. Genius of Greece! what sounds his ear invade, Breath'd by thy lips from Delphi's depth of shade! How roll the kindling numbers soft or strong, In all the awful majesty of song. What voice prophetic sounds from Cirrha's cave! How sweet the warbling of the Thespian wave! Lov'd Amymonè! and ye gales that bring The silver drops to pale Pyrene's spring, Shook from your lucid plumes! — ye linger'd there, Waking soft echoes from the listening air. While o'er each twilight vale, and haunted grove, Young Fancy's hand its wild embroidery wove, Flung o'er the earth, a light immortal given, And hung with flowery brede the purple zone of heaven.

Him by far Deva's banks the Muses found (Their favourite haunt) or Severn's western bound, Musing on Merlin's art (his earliest theme), Or Uther's son; — then by the shadowy stream Of Trent or Tamar, visions strange would be Of ships from Troy, ploughing the British sea. First from Kent's chalky headlands the salt tide Dividing, were green Ida's oaks espied, Bound for th' old giant's isle — anon they past The shore, and Brutus' colours on the mast.