When War's blood-tinctur'd spear Hung o'er the trembling rear; When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their headlong flight: Yon tow'rs then rung with wild alarms! Yon desert gleam'd with shining arms! Her wings were ting'd with spangling gold. She spoke her words infus'd resistless might, And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the soul of fight. H. 2. But, ah! what hand the smiling prospect brings, What voice recalls th' expiring day? See, darting swift on eagle-wings, The glancing moments burst away! While bright-eyed Fancy stands in sweet surprise, The flow'r-clad lawns, and bloomy meads, Or waving woods detain the sight- Some cloud sweeps shadowy o'er the dusky skies, And wraps the flying scene, that fades, and swims, and dies. II. 3. Lo! rising from yon dreary tomb, O'er yon long-resounding plain Slowly moves the solemn train; While the dull night's startled ear Or stand with thin robes wasting soon, Beheld the trembling swains obey, And wrought the glorious deed that swell'd the trump of Fame. III. 1. But why o'er these indulge the bursting sigh? Rocks not the doom when whirlwinds fly ? Nor shakes the hill when thunders roar? What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown, What tumbling chaos marks the waste of Time! I see Palmyra's temples fall; Yon waste where roaming lions howl, His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier clime, Where sports the warbling Muse, and Fancy soars sublime. III. 2. Hark! what dire sound rolls murm'ring on the Ah! what soul-thrilling scene appears? [gale? I see the column'd arches fail! And structures hoar, the boast of years! What mould'ring piles, decay'd, Gleam through the moon-streak'd shade, Where Rome's proud genius rear'd her awful brow! Sad monument!-Ambition near Rolls on the dust, and pours a tear; * Persepolis. Slow Patience sits, with eye deprest, And Courage beats his sobbing breast; Ev'n War's red cheek the gushing streams o'erflow, And Fancy's list'ning ear attends the plaint of Woe. III. 3. Lo, on yon pyramid sublime, Whence lies Old Egypt's desert clime, O'er his scythe he bends; his hand Lightly flit, with downy wing, And sap the works of man; and shade With silver'd locks his furrow'd head. |