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XIV.
And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up pil’d—
They perish’d—but the eternal tombs remain—
And the black precipice, abrupt and wild,
Pierc’d by long toil and hollow’d to a fane;—
Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain
The everlasting arches, dark and wide,
Like the night heaven when clouds are black with rain.
But idly skill was task’d, and strength was plied,
All was the work of slaves, to swell a despot’s pride.
XV.
And virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign
O’er those who cower to take a tyrant’s yoke;
She left the down-trod nations in disdain,
And flew to Greece, when liberty awoke,
New-born, amid those beautiful vales, and broke
Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands,
As the rock shivers in the thunder-stroke.
And lo! in full-grown strength, an empire stands
Of leagu’d and rival states, the wonder of the lands.
