Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/431

CANTO IV.] O'er steps of broken thrones and temples—Ye!

Whose agonies are evils of a day—

A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.

LXXIX.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands,

Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her withered hands,

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;

The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;

The very sepulchres lie tenantless