To A Greek Girl On The Seashore

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There are no heathen gods to play the rogueWith wandering maidens, as in olden time;Whose wild Olympian hearts were all agogTo choose their victim, and inflict their crime:Thou hast been gathering flowers, a fragrant store,But no grim Dis has seiz'd thee for his bride;And though thou rovest on this houseless shoreNo horned Zeus betrays thee to the tide.Olympus is gone by; but thou art there,The ward of truer heavens, all pure and sweet:No lust nor guile thy lonely path shall meet:The Father's Self, Who made thee good and fair,And pours His gentle waves about thy feet,Upholds thy virgin footsteps everywhere.

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)