High from the fields of air look down
Those eyries of a vanish’d race—
Homes of the mighty, whose renown
Hath pass’d, and left no trace.
But there thou art!—thy foliage bright
Unchanged the mountain storm can brave;
Thou, that wilt climb the loftiest height,
Or deck the humblest grave!
’Tis still the same! Where’er we tread,
The wrecks of human power we see—