R. L. Stevenson

“ Seeks first the ancestral altars, then the hearth
Long cold with rains, and where old terror lodged,
And where the dead. So thee undying Hope,
With all her pack, hunts screaming through the years:
Here, there, thou fleëst; but nor here nor there
The pleasant gods abide, the glory dwells. ”

“ The haunted, land of song; and by the wells
Where most the gods frequent. There Chiron old,
In a vast mountain antre, taught thee lore:
The plants he taught, and by the shining stars
In forests dim to steer. ”