They err'd not who relied for fame
On works of such magnificence;
Whose charms, unchangeably the same,
Surprise and ravish soul and sense

For here, though long since dead, they live
With power to waken smiles and tears;
And to unconscious canvass give
What lived and breathed in distant years.

What still shall captivate, when we
Who now with admiration gaze,
Like those who fashioned them, shall be
The creatures of departed days.

Still shall that sleeping infant's face,
Beauty and innocence reveal;
That sainted mother's matron grace
To every mother's heart appeal.

Those misty mountains still shall rise,
As now they do; those vales expand;
And still those torrents, trees, and skies,
Tell of each master's magic hand.