LXIV.

But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was young, See round thy giant base a brighter choir,[81] Nor e'er did Delphi, when her Priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, Behold a train more fitting to inspire The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in the glowing lap of soft Desire: Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades.