 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
162
TO GREECE.
(A Fragment.)
O, mistress of rich seas, whose every billowHath hymned a hope, or been some poet's pillow;
Mother of mountain isles, whose every stone
Hath borne the glory of some name unknown!
Whose shores a holy echo still repeat,
And show the sun-prints of immortal feet;
Where but to thee shall youthful spirits turn,
Finding an orient cradle in thine urn!
O, scenes where Homer lived and Byron died,
Greece! of the angel-sun the earthly bride,
How dost thou win our worship! To thy shores,
The mind's first Eden though profaned by crime,
How flies untutored Poesy, and pours
Its song of triumph on thy hills sublime,
Pavilioned by the skies! Thy temple roof
Now forms the pavement for an impious hoof;
And o'er the land a blighting breath is spread
To hide the heaven still bright above thy head—
A banner for thy cause, a mantle for thy dead!
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |