8
THE RESTORATION
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;
