Walls with deserted hearths, and temples rose
And altars, without victims or a god.
How little, mean and miserable seem’d
The world before mine eyes, when there I stood!
A bitter smile upon my features gleam’d,
To think of man’s ambition, schemes of blood,
And projects without end, when by a blast,
Like smoke, their good and evil are represt;
Ashes a mighty city overcast,
As light dust covers o’er some poor ants’ nest!