Shall feel less bitterly his stroke of grief,
And touch the shrine with not unworthy hand.
Guard ye my fathers! One day shall ye mark
A sightless wanderer ’mid your ancient shades:
Groping among your mounds, he shall embrace
The hallowed urns, and question of their trust.
Then shall the deep and caverned cells reply
In hollow murmur, and give up the tale
Of Troy twice razed to earth, and twice rebuilt;
Shining in grandeur on the desert plain,