Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on Thee,

Nor feels as Lovers o'er the dust they loved;

Dull is the eye that will not weep to see

Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed

By British hands, which it had best behoved[ec]

To guard those relics ne'er to be restored:—

Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,

And once again thy hapless bosom gored,

And snatched thy shrinking Gods to Northern climes abhorred![123]