Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > Greece
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Greece and Turkey in Europe: Vol. XIX.  1876–79.
Greece: Olympus, the Mountain, Thessaly
Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton (1809–1885)
WITH no sharp-sided peak or sudden cone,
  Thou risest o’er the blank Thessalian plain,
But in the semblance of a rounded throne,
  Meet for a monarch and his noble train
  To hold high synod;—but I feel it vain,        5
With my heart full and passionate as now,
  To frame my humble verse, as I would fain,
To calm description,—I can only bow
My head and soul, and ask again, “if that be thou?”
I feel before thee, as of old I felt        10
  (With sense as just, more vivid in degree),
When first I entered and unconscious knelt
  Within the Roman Martyr’s sanctuary:
  I feel that ages laid their faith on thee,
And if to me thou art a holy hill,        15
  Let not the pious scorn,—that piety
Though veiled, that truth though shadowy, were still
All the world had to raise its heart and fallen will.
Thou shrine which man, of his own natural thought,
  Gave to the God of Nature, and girt round        20
With elemental mightiness, and brought
  Splendor of form and depth of thunderous sound,
  To wall about with awe the chosen ground,—
All without toil of slaves or lavished gold,
  Thou wert upbuilt of memories profound,        25
Imaginations wonderful and old,
And the pure gems that lie in poets’ hearts untold.
God was upon thee in a thousand forms
  Of terror and of beauty, stern and fair,
Upgathered in the majesty of storms,        30
  Or floating in the film of summer air;
  Thus wert thou made ideal everywhere;
From thee the odorous plumes of love were spread,
  Delight and plenty through all lands to bear,—
From thee the never-erring bolt was sped        35
To curb the impious hand or blast the perjured head.
How many a boy, in his full noon of faith,
  Leaning against the Parthenon, half-blind
With inner light, and holding in his breath,
  Awed by the image of his own high mind,        40
  Has seen the Goddess there so proudly shrined,
Leave for a while her loved especial home,
  And pass, though wingless, on the northward wind,
On to thy height, beneath the eternal dome,
Where Heaven’s grand councils wait, till Wisdom’s self shall come!        45
Ours is another world, and godless now
  Thy ample crown; ’t is well,—yes,—be it so,
But I can weep this moment, when thy brow,
  Light-covered with fresh hoar of autumn snow,
  Shines in white light and dullness, which bestow        50
New grace of reverend loveliness, as seen
  With the long mass of gloomy hills below:
Blest be our open faith! too grand, I ween,
To grudge these votive tears to beauty that has been.

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