Earth repossesses part of what she gave,
And the freed spirit mounts on wings of fire;
Each element partakes our scatter’d spoils;
As nature, wide, our ruins spread: man’s death
Inhabits all things, but the thought of man.
Nor man alone; his breathing bust expires,
His tomb is mortal; empires die: where, now,
The Roman? Greek? They stalk, an empty name!
Yet few regard them in this useful light;
Though half our learning is their epitaph. 110