Their venerable songs preferr’d.
False memory of it’s state remains
In the rude sport of brutal swains.[[26]]
Now serpents hiss, and foxes dwell
Amidst the mould’ring citadel;
And time but spares those broken towers
In mockery of human powers.
Yon hill, that glows with southern rays,[[27]]
All-conscious of superior praise,
Swells her smooth top and pastures green,