Page:Modern Greece.pdf/35

Then through the foliage not a breeze might sigh
But with prophetic sound—a waving tree,
A meteor flashing o'er the summer sky,
A bird's wild flight, reveal'd the things to be.
All spoke of unseen natures, and convey'd
Their inspiration; still they hovered round,
Hallow'd the temple, whisper'd through the shade,
Pervaded loneliness, gave soul to sound;
Of them the fount, the forest, murmur'd still,

Now is the train of Superstition flown,
Unearthly Beings walk on earth no more;
The deep wind swells with no portentous tone,
The rustling wood breathes no fatidic lore.
Fled are the phantoms of Livadia's cave,
There dwell no shadows, but of crag and steep;
Fount of Oblivion! in thy gushing wave,³⁰
That murmurs nigh, those powers of terror sleep.
Oh! that such dreams alone had fled that clime,