I ponder on thine ancient name!
Here Grandeur, Beauty, Valour sleep,
That here, so oft, have shone supreme;
While Glory, Honour, Fancy, weep
That vanish’d is the golden dream!
Where are the banners, waving proud,
To kiss the summer-gale of even—
All purple as the morning-cloud,
All streaming to the winds of heaven?
Where is the harp, by rapture strung