LXXI.

Let Fancy’s vivid hues awhile prevail-- Wake at her call--be all thou wert once more! Hark! hymns of triumph swell on every gale-- Lo! bright processions move along thy shore; Again thy temples, midst the olive-shade, Lovely in chaste simplicity arise; And graceful monuments, in grove and glade, Catch the warm tints of thy resplendent skies; And sculptured forms, of high and heavenly mien, In their calm beauty smile around the sun-bright scene.