Slow comes perfection, but it comes at length. 70
Still must I grieve: these halls and towers sublime,
Like vulgar domes, must feel the force of time;
And, when decay’d, can future days repair
What I in these have made so strong and fair?
My future heirs shall want of power deplore,
When Time destroys what Time cannot restore.”
Sad in his glory, serious in his pride,
At once the chief exulted and he sigh’d;
Dreaming he sigh’d, and still, in sleep profound,