Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/239

 Droop on their thrones, and, like pale spirits pining, Vanish with morn.

O'er cities of old days, Dumb creatures graze; Palace and pyramid In dust are hid; Yea, the sky-searching tower Stands but its hour. Oceans their wide-stretched beds are ever shifting, Sea turns to shore, And stars and systems through dread space are drifting, To shine no more.

Names perish that erst smote Nations remote, With panic, fear, or wrong; Heroic song Grapples with time in vain; On to the main Of dim forgetfulness for ever rolling, Earth's bubbles burst; Time o'er the wreck of ages sternly tolling The last accurst.