LXXVII.

Bright age of Pericles! let fancy still Through time’s deep shadows all thy splendour trace, And in each work of art’s consummate skill Hail the free spirit of thy lofty race: That spirit, roused by every proud reward That hope could picture, glory could bestow, Foster’d by all the sculptor and the bard Could give of immortality below. Thus were thy heroes form’d, and o’er their name, Thus did thy genius shed imperishable fame.