But where, grim Conqueror, is thy prey?
In vain thou’lt search each secret way,
Its flight is hidden well.
We yield thee, for thy paltry spoils,
This shell, this ruin thou hast made;
Its tenant has escaped thy toils,
Though they were darkly laid.
Even now, immortal, pure,
It gains a house not made with hands,
A refuge in serener lands,