Time tempers not its terrors—still the worm
Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form,
Varied above, but still alike below;
The urn may shine—the ashes will not glow—
Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea[257]
O'er which from empire she lured Anthony;30
Though Alexander's urn[258] a show be grown
On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown—[259]
How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear
The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear!