Where the world’s histories, writ in ruins, sleep!
Where empire, passing on from clime to clime,
Hath left impressed so deep his steps sublime!
Where glory, emblemed once in thy fair name,
Hides with a shining veil thy present shame!
Lo! the most speaking of the wrecks of years—
Weep! pity’s voice shall answer to thy tears!
By empire, by misfortune sacred made,
Queen, source of nations, mother of the dead!
Not only of those noble sons the pride