Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/95

CANTO I.] LXI.

Oft have I dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name

Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore:

And now I view thee—'tis, alas, with shame

That I in feeblest accents must adore.

When I recount thy worshippers of yore

I tremble, and can only bend the knee;

Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,

But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy

In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee!

LXII.

Happier in this than mightiest Bards have been,

Whose Fate to distant homes confined their lot,

Shall I unmoved behold the hallowed scene,

Which others rave of, though they know it not?

Though here no more Apollo haunts his Grot,

And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave,