Behold, we live: but Oh, no more,
Our country's walls[26] remain; their place
Shall soon be hidden by the woods,
And all our temples fall away
To squalid hovels. Even now125
The cold Dolopian will come
And o'er the ashes, glowing yet,
Sad remnants of Oechalia,
Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas,
Within our walls, the shepherd rude