The walls form a triangle of about three thousand three hundred yards in compass. In some parts they are in a high state of preservation, and extremely interesting; since they were rebuilt in the reign of Alexander, after having been destroyed by the Persians. They are of regular masonry, eight feet in thickness, and fortified by towers, most of which are square.[99] The view from the ruins is extremely interesting and beautiful. “When we look towards Thebes,” says Mr. Dodwell, “we behold the Asopos, and the other small streams, winding through this memorable plain, which, towards the west, is separated by a low range of hills from the equally celebrated field of Leuctra; while the distant view is terminated by the two pointed summits of Helicon, and the snow-topped heights of Parnassus.”—“What must this city have been, in all its pride and glory!” exclaims Mr. Williams. “The remains now appear grey as twilight; but without a charm of returning day. Time is modelling now, instead of art. Miles of ancient pottery and tiles, hardly allowing the blades of corn to grow among the ruins; sheep-tracks among the massive foundations; asses loaded with brush-wood, from shrubs growing in the courts of ancient palaces and temples; shepherds with their flocks, the bells of the goats heard from among the rocks; tombs and sarcophagi of ancient heroes, covered with moss, some broken and some entire; fragments, and ornaments, and stones containing mutilated inscriptions;—these are the objects, which Platæa now presents. But who, that stands there, with a recollection of its ancient glory, and having Parnassus full in view, can quit the spot without regret?[100]” NO. XVIII.—PÆSTUM.[101] Wreck of the mighty—relics of the dead— Who may remove the veil o’er PÆSTUM spread, Who pierce the clouds that rest upon your name, Or from oblivion’s eddies snatch your fame?— Yet as she stands within your mould’ring walls, _Fancy_—the days of former pride recalls; And at her bidding—lo! the Tyrrhene shore, Swarms with its countless multitude once more; And bright pavilions rise;—her magic art Peoples thy streets, and throngs thy busy mart. In quick succession her creative power Restores the splendour of Phœnicia’s hour, Revives the Sybarite’s unbless’d repose, Toss’d on the foldings of the Pæstum rose, Lucania’s thraldom—Rome’s imperial sway, The Vandal’s triumph—and the robber’s prey.