Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/136

102 Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so

On Earth no more, but mingled with the skies?

Still wilt thou dream on future Joy and Woe?

Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies:

That little urn saith more than thousand Homilies.

V.

Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound;

Far on the solitary shore he sleeps:N3

He fell, and falling nations mourned around;

But now not one of saddening thousands weeps,

Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps

Where demi-gods appeared, as records tell.

Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps:

Is that a Temple where a God may dwell?

Why ev'n the Worm at last disdains her shattered cell!

VI.

Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall,

Its chambers desolate, and portals foul:

Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall,

The Dome of Thought, the Palace of the Soul: