[Illustration]
I walked with Gibbon and Hume, through the sombre halls of the past, and
caught visions of the glory of the classic Republics and Empires that
flourished long ago, and whose very dust is still eloquent with the
story of departed greatness. The spirit of genius lingers there still
like the fragrance of roses faded and gone.
I thought I heard the harp of Pindar, and the impassioned song of the
dark-eyed Sappho. I thought I heard the lofty epic of the blind Homer,
rushing on in the red tide of battle, and the divine Plato discoursing
like an oracle in his academic shades.
The canvas spoke and the marble breathed when Apelles painted and
Phidias carved.
I stood with Michael Angelo and saw him chisel his dreams from the
marble.