XCVII.

Midst their bright kindred, from their marble throne They have look’d down on thousand storms of time; Surviving power, and fame, and freedom flown, They still remain’d, still tranquilly sublime! Till mortal hands the heavenly conclave marr’d. The Olympian groups have sunk, and are forgot-- Not e’en their dust could weeping Athens guard; But these were destined to a nobler lot! And they have borne, to light another land, The quenchless ray that soon shall gloriously expand.