XV.

Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on Thee, Nor feels as Lovers o'er the dust they loved; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed By British hands, which it had best behoved[ec] To guard those relics ne'er to be restored:-- Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, And once again thy hapless bosom gored, And snatched thy shrinking Gods to Northern climes abhorred![123]