Through that deep solitude be his to stray, By Faun and Oread loved in ages past, Where clear Peneus winds his rapid way Though the cleft heights, in antique grandeur vast. Romantic Tempe! thou art yet the same-- Wild, as when sung by bards of elder time:[17] Years, that have changed thy river’s classic name,[18] Have left thee still in savage pomp sublime; And from thine Alpine clefts and marble caves, In living lustre still break forth the fountain waves. XXIV. Beneath thy mountain battlements and towers, Where the rich arbute’s coral berries glow,[19] Or midst th’ exuberance of thy forest bowers, Casting deep shadows o’er the current’s flow, Oft shall the pilgrim pause, in lone recess, As rock and stream some glancing light have caught, And gaze, till Nature’s mighty forms impress His soul with deep sublimity of thought; And linger oft, recalling many a tale, That breeze, and wave, and wood seem whispering through thy dale. XXV. He, thought-entranced, may wander where of old From Delphi’s chasm the mystic vapour rose, And trembling nations heard their doom foretold By the dread spirit throned midst rocks and snows. Though its rich fanes be blended with the dust, And silence now the hallow’d haunt possess, Still is the scene of ancient rites august, Magnificent in mountain loneliness; Still inspiration hovel’s o’er the ground, Where Greece her councils held,[20] her Pythian victors crown’d. XXVI. Or let his steps the rude gray cliffs explore Of that wild pass, once dyed with Spartan blood, When by the waves that break on Œta’s shore, The few, the fearless, the devoted, stood! Or rove where, shadowing Mantinea’s plain, Bloom the wild laurels o’er the warlike dead,[21] Or lone Platæa’s ruins yet remain To mark the battle-field of ages fled: Still o’er such scenes presides a sacred power, Though Fiction’s gods have fled from fountain, grot, and bower. XXVII. Oh! still unblamed may fancy fondly deem That, lingering yet, benignant genii dwell Where mortal worth has hallow’d grove or stream, To sway the heart with some ennobling spell; For mightiest minds have felt their blest control In the wood’s murmur, in the zephyr’s sigh, And these are dreams that lend a voice and soul, And a high power, to Nature’s majesty! And who can rove o’er Grecian shores, nor feel, Soft o’er his inmost heart, their secret magic steal? XXVIII.