Gazing on Zoster's high and rocky crest,
And Argos' hills that fringe the distant West,
Aegina's temple stands; trees skirt the glade,
And wrap the ruins in their solemn shade.
What scenes of darkness in this spot have past!
What sounds of fear have loaded midnight's blast!
Here Jove's grand hymns were sung — here victims bled;
Now coos the dove, the violet lifts her head;
O'er prostrate shafts the harmless lizard crawls,
And roses breathe perfume from crumbling walls:
Thy memory, god of thunder! wakes no fear,
But Peace her sister Beauty kisses here.