Tempe

We are in Tempe, Peneus glides below,--
That is Olympus,--we are wondering
Where, in old history, Xerxes the great King,
Wondered. How strangely pleasant this to know!
We may have gazed on scenes of grander flow,
And on rocks cast in shapes more marvellous,
Now this delicious calm entices us,
These platain shades, to let the dull world go.
A poet's Mistress is a hallowed thing,
And all the beauties of his verse become
Her own;--so be it with the poet's Vale:
Listen those emerald waters murmuring,
Behold the cliffs, that wall the gods' old home,
And float into the Past with softly swelling sail.