pp. 256, 257.] 1. THE ACROPOLIS AND ITS SPLENDORS. The Acropolis, the fortress of Athens, was the center of its architectural splendor. It is a rocky height rising abruptly out of the Attic plain, and was accessible only on the western side, where stood the Propylæ'a, a magnificent structure of the Doric order, constructed under the direction of Pericles by the architect Mnesicles, and which served as the gate as well as the defence of the Acropolis. But the latter's chief glory was the Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, built in the time of Pericles by Icti'nus and Callic'rates, and which stood on the highest point, near the center. It was constructed entirely of the most beautiful white marble from Mount Pentelicus, and its dimensions were two hundred and twenty-eight feet by one hundred and two --having eight Doric columns in each of the two fronts, and seventeen in each of the sides, and also an interior range of six columns in each end. The ceiling of the western part of the main building was supported by four interior columns, and of the eastern end by sixteen. The entire height of the building above its platform was sixty-five feet. The whole was enriched within and without with matchless works of art by various artists under the direction of Phidias--its chief wonder, however, being the gold and ivory statue of the Virgin Goddess, the work of Phidias himself, elsewhere described. This magnificent structure remained entire until the year 1687, when, during a siege of Athens by the Venetians, a bomb fell on the devoted Parthenon, and, setting fire to the powder that the Turks had stored there, entirely destroyed the roof and reduced the whole building almost to ruins. The eight columns of the eastern front, however, and several of the lateral colonnades, are still standing; and the whole, dilapidated as it is, retains an air of inexpressible grandeur and sublimity. The Parthenon. Fair Parthenon! yet still must fancy weep For thee, thou work of nobler spirits flown. Bright as of old the sunbeams o'er thee sleep In all their beauty still--and thine is gone! Empires have sunk since thou wast first revered, And varying rites have sanctified thy shrine. The dust is round thee of the race that reared Thy walls, and thou--their fate must still be thine! But when shall earth again exult to see Visions divine like theirs renewed in aught like thee? Lone are thy pillars now--each passing gale Sighs o'er them as a spirit's voice, which moaned That loneliness, and told the plaintive tale Of the bright synod once above them throned. Mourn, graceful ruin! on thy sacred hill Thy gods, thy rites, a kindred fate have shared: Yet art thou honored in each fragment still That wasting years and barbarous hands have spared; Each hallowed stone, from rapine's fury borne, Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn.