RUINS OF PALMYRA.
Palmyra, where art thou, all dreary and lone?
The breath of thy fame, like the night-wind, hath flown:
O'er thy temples, thy minarets, towers, and halls
The dark veil of oblivion silently falls.
The breath of thy fame, like the night-wind, hath flown:
O'er thy temples, thy minarets, towers, and halls
The dark veil of oblivion silently falls.
The sands of the desert sweep by thee in pride,
They curl round thy brow, like the foam of the tide,
And soon, like the mountain stream's wild-rolling wave,
Will rush o'er, and wrap thee at once in thy grave.
They curl round thy brow, like the foam of the tide,
And soon, like the mountain stream's wild-rolling wave,
Will rush o'er, and wrap thee at once in thy grave.
O, where are the footsteps which once gayly flew
O'er pavements where now weep the foxglove and yew?
O, where are the voices which once gayly sung,
While the lofty-browed domes with melody rung?
O'er pavements where now weep the foxglove and yew?
O, where are the voices which once gayly sung,
While the lofty-browed domes with melody rung?
They are silent; and naught breaks the chaos of death;
Not a being now treads o'er the ivy's dull wreath,
Save the raging hyena, whose terrible cry
Echoes loud through the halls and the palaces high.
Not a being now treads o'er the ivy's dull wreath,
Save the raging hyena, whose terrible cry
Echoes loud through the halls and the palaces high.
