Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.

Mount Pentelicus

Let every traveller hasten to reach the top of Mount Pentelicus. It is loftier than Snowdon; but it is only some twelve miles from Athens, a morning walk for the average hill-climber. In the hollow which seems to lie beneath our feet, as we gaze on the wonderful scene from the summit, the Acropolis, with the Parthenon and Propylaea portico, dominate the basin of Athens. It is easy to mark the Nyx where Themistocles and Pericles, Alcibiades and Demosthenes addressed the people; there is the agora where Socrates stood and questioned all who cared to answer; there is Mars’ Hill where Paul spoke to philosophers and idlers about the Unknown God.

One can almost make out the olive grove which still seems to mark the site of Plato’s Academy, and not far from it the knoll which marks Colon os, the birthplace of Sophocles, the scene of his exquisite drama of the exiled Oedipus. In the two hundred years that sever the age of Pisistratus from that of Demosthenes, what a harvest of genius in all forms of human power—in war, art, poetry, policy, philosophy — has been gathered from that little field, which from our mountain top looks like a few bare, barren, sunbaked acres ! What an outburst of human activity and invention in that dazzling light and purity of atmosphere, where, as their poet says, they passed their days ‘ in dainty delight, in most pellucid air,’ or as our own poet has said —

‘ Where, on the Mgean shore, a city stands Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — ’

The atmosphere of Athens still seems to be light rather than air: its soil seems to be not earth, but the dust of white marble bulgaria trips.

Still standing on Pentelicus

Still standing on Pentelicus, we may see a little further Piraeus and the three ports beside the blue gulf, from whence some thousand fleets of triremes have set sail for all parts of the Mediterranean. And just across the thin streak of blue rises the island of Salamis. The water beneath it is the scene of the most famous sea-fight in history: beyond, the hills look down on the birthplace of Aischylus: in the distance rise up the crag of Acro- Corinth and the mountains of Argolis, Cithaeron, Helicon, Parnes, and Hymettus. To the west and south, half Greece can be outlined, or traced by its topmost peaks and distant islands. If we turn northwards, beneath our feet, an hour or two on foot below us, lies a quiet, drowsy plain along the sea-coast, sheltered by the vast ranges of Euboea.