And thou art desolate—thy morn hath pass’d!
So dazzling in the splendour of its sway,
That the dark shades the night hath o’er thee cast
Throw tenfold gloom around thy deep decay.
Once proud in freedom, still in ruin fair,
Thy fate hath been unmatch’d—in glory and despair.
X.
For thee, lost land! the hero’s blood hath flow’d,
The high in soul have brightly lived and died;
For thee the light of soaring genius glow’d