Storms have gone forth, which, in their fierce career,
The shrine hath sunk!—but thou unchanged art there!
Mount of the voice and vision, robed with dreams!
Unchanged, and rushing through the radiant air,
With thy dark-waving pines, and flashing streams,
And all thy founts of song! their bright course teems
With inspiration yet; and each dim haze,
Or golden cloud which floats around thee, seems
As with its mantle, veiling from our gaze
Away, vain phantasies!—doth less of power
Dwell round thy summit, or thy cliff's invest,
Though in deep stillness now, the ruin's flower
Wave o'er the pillars mouldering on thy breast?
—Lift through the free blue heavens thine arrowy crest!
Let the great rocks their solitude regain!
No Delphian lyres now break thy noontide rest
With their full chords:—but silent be the strain!
- ↑ * This, with the preceding, and several of the following pieces, have appeared in the Edinburgh Magazine.
