Page:Poems (Bryant, 1821).djvu/20



Till bolder spirits seiz’d the rule, and nail’d

On men the yoke that man should never bear,

And drove them forth to battle: Lo! unveil’d

The scene of those stern ages! What is there?

A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air

Moans with the crimson surges that intomb

Cities and banner’d armies; forms that wear

The kingly circlet, rise, amid the gloom,

O’er the dark wave, and straight are swallow’d in its womb.

Those ages have no memory—but they left

A record in the desert—columns strewn

On the waste sands, and statues fall’n and cleft,

Heap’d like a host in battle overthrown;

Vast ruins, where the mountain’s ribs of stone

Were hewn into a city; streets that spread

In the dark earth, where never breath has blown

Of heaven’s sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread

The long and perilous ways—the cities of the dead;