"What of yon stately city, where are shrined The warrior’s and the poet’s wreath combined— All the high honours of the human mind! Her walls are bright with colours, whose fine dyes Embody shapes that seem from yonder skies, And in her scrolls the world’s deep wisdom lies. What of her future?—Through the silvery smoke I see the distant vision I invoke. These glorious walls have bowed to time’s dark yoke. I see a plain of desert sand extend Scattered with ruins, where the wild flowers bend, And the green ivy, like a last sad friend."