LXX.

But thou, fair Attica! whose rocky bound All art and nature’s richest gifts enshrined, Thou little sphere, whose soul-illumined round Concentrated each sunbeam of the mind; Who, as the summit of some Alpine height Glows earliest, latest, with the blush of day, Didst first imbibe the splendours of the light,[43] And smile the longest in its lingering ray; Oh! let us gaze on thee, and fondly deem The past awhile restored, the present but a dream.