Silver Scamander laves the verdant shore, Scamander, oft o’erflowed with hostile gore. Nor far removed from Ilion’s famous land In counter-view appears the Thracian strand, Where beauteous Hero, from the turret’s height, Displayed her cresset each revolving night; Whose gleam directed loved Leander o’er The rolling Hellespont from Asia’s shore: Till in a fated hour, on Thracia’s coast, She saw her lover’s lifeless body tost; Then felt her bosom agony severe, Her eyes, sad gazing, poured th’ incessant tear; O’erwhelmed with anguish, frantic with despair, She beat her swelling breast, and tore her hair; On dear Leander’s name in vain she cried, Then headlong plunged into the parting tide: Th’ exulting tide received the lovely maid, And proudly from the strand its freight convey’d. Far west of Thrace, beyond th’ Ægean main, Remote from ocean lies the Delphic plain: The sacred oracle of Phœbus there High o’er the mount arose, divinely fair! Achaian marble formed the gorgeous pile, August the fabric! elegant its style! On brazen hinges turned the silver doors, And chequered marble paved the polished floors; The roof, where storied tablature appeared, On columns of Corinthian mould was reared; Of shining porphyry the shafts were framed, And round the hollow dome bright jewels flamed: Apollo’s priests, before the holy shrine Suppliant, poured forth their orisons divine; To front the sun’s declining ray ’twas placed, With golden harps and branching laurels graced: Around the fane, engraved by Vulcan’s hand, The sciences and arts were seen to stand; Here Æsculapius’ snake displayed his crest, And burning glories sparkled on his breast; While from his eye’s insufferable light, Disease and death recoiled in headlong flight: Of this great temple, through all time renowned, Sunk in oblivion, no remains are found. Contiguous here, with hallowed woods o’erspread, Renowned Parnassus lifts its honoured head; There roses blossom in eternal spring, And strains celestial feathered warblers sing: Apollo, here, bestows th’ unfading wreath; Here zephyrs aromatic odours breathe; They o’er Castalian plains diffuse perfume, Where round the scene perennial laurels bloom; Fair daughters of the Sun, the sacred Nine! Here wake to ecstasy their harps divine, Or bid the Paphian lute mellifluous play, And tune to plaintive love the liquid lay; Their numbers every mental storm controul, And lull to harmony th’ afflicted soul, With heavenly balm the tortured breast compose, And soothe the agony of latent woes: The verdant shades that Helicon surround, On rosy gales seraphic tunes resound: Perpetual summers crown the happy hours, Sweet as the breath that fans Elysian flowers: Hence pleasure dances in an endless round,