TO the sepulchres | |
| Of the ancient kings, which Baly in his power | |
| Made in primeval times; and built above them | |
| A city, like the cities of the gods, | |
| Being like a god himself. For many an age | 5 |
| Hath Ocean warred against his palaces, | |
| Till, overwhelmed, they lie beneath the waves, | |
| Not overthrown, so well the awful chief | |
| Had laid their deep foundations. Rightly said | |
| The accursed, that no way for man was there, | 10 |
| But not like man am I! * * * * * | |
| Such was the talk they held upon their way | |
| Of him to whose old city they were bound; | |
| And now, upon their journey, many a day | |
| Had risen and closed, and many a week gone round, | 15 |
| And many a realm and region had they passed, | |
| When now the ancient towers appeared at last. | |
| |
| Their golden summits in the noonday light | |
| Shone o’er the dark green deep that rolled between. | |
| For domes and pinnacles and spires were seen | 20 |
| Peering above the sea, a mournful sight! | |
| Well might the sad beholder ween from thence | |
| What works of wonder the devouring wave | |
| Had swallowed there, when monuments so brave | |
| Bore record of their old magnificence. | 25 |
| And on the sandy shore, beside the verge | |
| Of Ocean, here and there, a rock-hewn fane | |
| Resisted in its strength the surf and surge | |
| That on their deep foundations beat in vain. | |
| In solitude the ancient temples stood, | 30 |
| Once resonant with instrument and song, | |
| And solemn dance of festive multitude; | |
| Now as the weary ages pass along, | |
| Hearing no voice save of the ocean flood, | |
| Which roars forever on the restless shores; | 35 |
| Or visiting their solitary caves, | |
| The lonely sound of winds, that moan around | |
| Accordant to the melancholy waves. | |
| |
