"When waned the star of Greece was there no cry,
To rouse her people from their lethargy?
Was there no sentry on the Parthenon--
No watch-fire on the field of Marathon,
When science left the Athenian city's gate,
To seek protection from a nameless fate?
The sluggish sentry slept--no cry was heard
No hands the glimm'ring watch-fire's embers stirr'd.
Fair science unmolested left the land,
That she had nurtured with maternal hand;
And wandered forth some genial spot to find,
Where she might rear her altar to the mind.
"Long thro' the darken'd ages of a world,
Back to primeval chaos rudely hurled,
She journey'd on amid the gath'ring gloom,
A spectre form emerging from the tomb.
Earth had no resting place--no worshipper--
No dove returned with olive branch to her:
Her lamp burned dimly, yet its flick'ring light,
Guided the wanderer thro' the lengthen'd night.
Oft in her weary search, she paused the while,
To catch one gleam of hope--one favour'd smile;
But the dim mists of ignorance still threw,
Their blighting influence o'er the famish'd few,
Who deigned to look upon that lustrous eye,
Which pierced the ages of futurity.

"For ten long centuries she groped her way,
Through gloom, and darkness, ruin and decay;