Art unobtrusive there ennobles form,[50] Each pure chaste outline exquisitely flows; There e’en the steed, withhold expression warm,[51] Is clothed with majesty, with being glows. One mighty mind hath harmonised the whole; Those varied groups the same bright impress bear; One beam and essence of exalting soul Lives in the grand, the delicate, the fair; And well that pageant of the glorious dead Blends us with nobler days, and loftier spirits fled. XCIV. O conquering Genius! that couldst thus detain The subtle graces, fading as they rise, Eternalise expression’s fleeting reign, Arrest warm life in all its energies, And fix them on the stone--thy glorious lot Might wake ambition’s envy, and create Powers half divine: while nations are forgot, A thought, a dream of thine hath vanquish’d fate! And when thy hand first gave its wonders birth, The realms that hail them now scarce claim’d a name on earth. XCV. Wert thou some spirit of a purer sphere But once beheld, and never to return? No--we may hail again thy bright career, Again on earth a kindred fire shall burn! Though thy least relics, e’en in ruin, bear A stamp of heaven, that ne’er hath been renew’d-- A light inherent--let not man despair: Still be hope ardent, patience unsubdued; For still is nature fair, and thought divine, And art hath won a world in models pure as thine.[52] XCVI. Gaze on yon forms, corroded and defaced-- Yet there the germ of future glory lies! Their virtual grandeur could not be erased; It clothes them still, though veil’d from common eyes. They once were gods and heroes[53]--and beheld As the blest guardians of their native scene; And hearts of warriors, sages, bards, have swell’d With awe that own’d their sovereignty of mien. Ages have vanish’d since those hearts were cold, And still those shatter’d forms retain their godlike mould. XCVII. Midst their bright kindred, from their marble throne They have look’d down on thousand storms of time; Surviving power, and fame, and freedom flown, They still remain’d, still tranquilly sublime! Till mortal hands the heavenly conclave marr’d. The Olympian groups have sunk, and are forgot-- Not e’en their dust could weeping Athens guard; But these were destined to a nobler lot! And they have borne, to light another land, The quenchless ray that soon shall gloriously expand. XCVIII.