Parthenon

turn up the volume The Curse of Minerva by Lord Byron Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea’s hills the setting sun; Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light; O’er the hush’d deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows; On old Aegina’s rock and Hydra’s isle The god of gladness shed his parting smile’ O’er his own regions lingering loves to … Read More