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.